


We All Need A Little Shelter

by DeeDeeCat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky is one tough dude, But everyone needs help sometimes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Mature Rating, F/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), more tags as work progresses, wakanda recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeeDeeCat/pseuds/DeeDeeCat
Summary: Steve asks a burnt-out psychiatrist with a a very particular skill-set to help his friend. When Captain America asks, how can you say no? "She had a truly daunting task ahead of her, but she felt better than she had in years. When the Program failed, she’d been lost. Lost her sense of purpose, her confidence, her life. This was a chance for Bucky to get his life back, and just maybe, she could get hers back too. She was sick to death of the empty shell she’d let herself become. If Bucky could fight after all that was done to him, how could she fail to do the same?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into fanfic in this fandom, and my first fic in about a year (2?) but wow did I fall hard for Bucky Barnes... and so does my protagonist. This story does go to Bucky's POV also, once he's awake. ;) Not sure how long this one will go, but I always, always finish writing my stories, and I always have regular updates. Promise.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. White walls, glass, computers, and industrious scientific types tapping away at computers, here in the middle of a jungle in eastern Africa. She’d expected something a little less… modern, maybe? When Steve (and how weird was it to call him that, but he’d insisted) showed up in her Psyche 101 classroom with a ridiculous story, she’d pretty much decided nothing else could be stranger, but this was a close second.

It was surreal. All of it. The Captain, sidling into the back of her lecture, in her little college, asking for her help. The fact that she’d been made a laughingstock in the psychiatric community didn’t faze him one bit, nor did her insistence that she was no longer practicing. He’d fixed her with an impossibly sincere gaze and stated he needed her help. Considering she’d just finished out the semester and she’d not been invited back to teach again, she’d figured it couldn’t hurt to at least humor him. She had to eat, right? A job was a job, these days. But Wakanda? Crazy, but what the hell. Captain America needed her help. Why not?

Layers of security, five different searches, an extraordinarily high-tech x-ray machine, the likes of which she’d never seen, and a pat down so familiar she felt the need to invite the lady to Thanksgiving dinner later, and she and Steve were finally ushered into a quiet lab and asked to wait for the head of the facility who would be briefing them on the “situation.” 

Steve chose to stand rather than take a seat next to her. Chalk up another surprise in her day, he looked awfully nervous. If _he_ was nervous, she wondered if she was missing something critical and maybe she should be nervous too. She knew she’d have free room and board, and a hefty paycheck, all to act as a consultant. It sounded like a lifesaver, a miracle considering her financial situation, and she’d taken the bait, hook line and sinker, but maybe she should have asked more questions before she got on the plane. Steve said he’d explain later, but the flight over hadn’t been later, nor had the car ride. Later was now, damn it.

She turned to Steve, “We’re here. Care to fill in some of the finer points? Maybe start with what, who, and why,” she suggested.

“Dr. Zilberschlag--”

“Hilly,” she interrupted. “Just Hilly, please.”

“Hilly, then. I think it’ll be easier if I can just show you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the door swung open and their welcoming committee strode in.  


“Welcome to Wakanda. I’m Dr. Berhanu Jakande, the head of our research station, my specialty is neurosurgery, and with me is Dr. Eshe Yeboah, our top neurophysicist and my assistant, Mwanajuma Orji. We’ll be working with you while you’re here.”  


Hilly’s forehead creased as she studied him, the humor and curiosity in his face strangely familiar beneath the thick beard.

“Columbia,” Dr. Jakande stated. “That’s where you recognize me.”

Her eyes opened wide. It had been years, but yes, she knew him. They’d been colleagues… no, that wasn’t fair. They’d been friends. “Jak? What on earth are you doing here?”

He grinned, “Wakandans often send their youth abroad to university, but we usually come home.” He sobered, “And you are very far from home. It’s good to see you again Hilly. I hope you will consider the good Captain's offer. This is not my expertise, but I know it is yours.”

“What is? All Steve will tell me is he needs an expert in surviving psychological trauma.”

Jak nodded, “PTSD, torture, and deprogramming. You know why I thought of you.”

Hilly swallowed hard, “The Program.”

“You’ve seen this before. The real thing. There aren’t many people that have,” Steve said. 

A bitter laugh escaped her, “Yeah, well I wish I hadn’t. The Program was shut down for a reason.”

“Dr. Jakande insisted we needed you. It had to be you.”

Hilly glared at him, “It should be anyone but me. We failed. _I_ failed.”

“No. You didn’t,” Jak argued, “You were told it failed, but they lied to you. You did your job too well, and that wasn’t what they wanted. It wasn’t your fault.”

Hilly’s gut churned. She gripped the chair next to her as her knees began to buckle. Steve was there in a heartbeat, guiding her to the seat. “No.” She felt the truth of it in her bones. All those unanswered questions, all the bits that didn’t make sense. She’d suspected, but she’d let it go, because if what she suspected had been true… we had been trying to create our own form of mind control. It had all been a lie. Ten years of her life she’d given to The Program. Those men and women… veterans, had relied on her to help them. They died because she couldn’t. They told her it was because the program failed. Because she couldn’t break their programming and they were deemed too dangerous. They’d destroyed their lives and her life for what? Why?

“I know,” Steve said softly. “I used to trust the government, too. Agencies have agendas. I put my trust in people, and the Doc says the person to help us, to help my friend, is you.”

She shook her head, “I can’t.”

“Please. Please try.”

Once again she found herself on the receiving end of that sincere blue gaze and once again she somehow found herself nodding yes. She suddenly saw why people followed him into impossible situations. No wonder he was able to turn the tide in World War II. He would have just had to say please. She hoped she wasn’t going to regret this. She was almost certain she would.

Jak led them both through another corridor and into a sterile blindingly white lab. In the center of the room stood a frost rimed capsule, and inside a human form. Next to the capsule was a graphic display of vitals, monitoring the man within. She stumbled as her mind made sense of what she was seeing. Cryogenics. The impossible. She glanced over at Steve. Well, improbable, she amended. He’d defrosted okay, but he was more than human.

She moved closer to the glass. “Who is he?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve answered. “My friend.”

“Oh.” Brilliant conversation, yeah, but what could she say to that? “He’s not dead.” Yeah, that was _so_ much better.

She moved closer, rested her hand on the glass and peered at the man inside. Long dark hair, what a jawline, one arm… and a genuine legendary war hero. She’d always thought he was so handsome in the old pictures in her history books. He looked different behind the glass. Torture, programming, and PTSD, they said. 

“Hydra,” Steve answered. “They took him after he fell. Wiped his memory over and over again, programmed him to be their assassin. He was in their control for seventy years. A couple of years ago, I saw him... he was trying to kill a friend of mine. He had no idea who he was, who I was. We fought… I didn’t have a choice. He was killing people. End the end though, he remembered. He remembered and saved my life. When the helicarriers went down, I went down with them. Bucky pulled me out of the Potomac.”

She nodded; she remembered. She watched it live. Hilly studied the play of emotion on his face. Pain, and love, and fear. This man was important to him.

“I woke up on the bank and he was gone. We looked for him for two years. Found him after the UN bombing.”

She shuddered, and something in her expression must have bothered Steve because his expression turned ugly.

“It wasn’t him. It was a trap to catch him.”

She raised her hands, “I believe you!”

“Sorry.” He sighed, “He’s better now. He remembers me, can control himself, but the triggers are all still there. There was a man, Zemo, he took control of his mind. Bucky couldn’t stop it. It scared him.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat at the thought of what had been done to him. She knew her Howling Commandos history, especially that of Bucky Barnes, and yet here he was. How long had they had him under their thumb? Oh damn, she was in it now, wasn’t she? 

“I'd just got him back,” Steve implored.

“Okay. Fill me in on all of it. I’m ready to listen and I’ll do my best to help him.”

######

 

Steve and Jak filled her in on how Bucky Barnes had gone from dead war hero to cryogenic brain-wiped super assassin, the recovery of his free will (mostly) and his memories, and his reunion with his childhood best friend. James Barnes had been through hell, had a massive guilt complex, and had chosen to go back into the freezer rather than be a danger to others. She requested his files, everything they had on him, and said she’d tell them when she felt ready to begin. She needed to know what she was getting into, as best she could. More important, she needed to know Bucky.

She would be staying on-site at the lab, which suited her just fine. The implications of helping Bucky coupled with her knowledge of the Project and why it had really ended weren’t lost on her. If she hadn’t managed to make herself a laughingstock in the psychiatric community and become universally pitied as an example of a brilliant mind gone awry, she might be dead. Jak told her that they were the only people still living out of all those that worked on the Project. Jak left early enough that they probably figured he didn’t know enough to bother killing him, plus he was T’Challa’s cousin, but she’d worked there for ten years. If anyone learned she was back into this sort of work, it could be bad for her. Well, with Steve sleeping just down the hall from her, and the security involved with getting inside the facility, she felt well-protected at least.

Jak escorted her to her room and left her instructions on how to contact him and directions to the kitchen housed on the floor below. She didn’t think she’d be hungry for the next week from the looks of what was in Bucky’s files. Jak said the rest was on the laptop in her room, complete with information on his ops, interviews, pretty much anything and everything they had on Bucky before and after his transformation. Hydra and the Russians had kept copious notes and recorded much of their sessions with Bucky. It was a lot of data. Steve had spent months finding as much as he could, raiding old facilities, calling in favors.

She had a truly daunting task ahead of her, but she felt better than she had in years. When the Program failed, she’d been lost. Lost her sense of purpose, her confidence, her life. This was a chance for Bucky to get his life back, and just maybe, she could get hers back too. She was sick to death of the empty shell she’d let herself become. If Bucky could fight after all that was done to him, how could she fail to do the same?

Her heart ached for him. Loyal, brave, and a true friend to Steve Rogers, James Barnes had been a good man. From the looks of his file, he’d been stubborn to a fault, even after Hydra got their hooks into him. He’d carried out orders exactly to the letter, never killing a soul on a mission he wasn’t implicitly directed to kill, never giving one iota more than he had to. She read it as a rebellion of sorts. He’d been stored in cryo in between ops due to his instability. Instability meaning he’d been throwing off the mind control faster than they liked. Bucky Barnes was one strong-minded stubborn bastard. The same serum that helped him survive was likely at work in his brain, repairing damage. If they left him out too long or let him go too long without a wipe, his brain healed at least some the damage done. That may make her job easier, or perhaps so much harder. Either way, after reading his file, she was half in love with the man. Not good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is woken up, and he and his new shrink discuss his chances of success over cheesy eggs and coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to explore Bucky's state of mind as it was at the end of Civil War. He'd recovered his memories (according to the Russos), carried out normal conversations for the most part, and was surviving on his own, and yet he was still dealing with the fallout of all that was done to him.

She spent two weeks reading his files, studying him. In truth, she didn’t need that much time, but she was more than a little bit nervous about getting back into things, especially with such a sensitive client. _Client_. Right… like she actually felt _that_ professional about this situation. 

She’d settled into a routine of sorts at the Wakandan facility. Making breakfast of toast and coffee in the kitchen (she was a terrible cook), reviewing files, reading in the library, jogging on the treadmill in the gym, shower, lunch, more reading, internet TV, dinner, bed. Rinse, repeat. Sometimes, when a file or footage was especially bad (all the video was hard to take, to be honest, even as grainy and blurry as some of it was), she’d have a drink or five. Just because she knew better than to self-medicate didn’t mean she didn’t do it. Hell, the shape she was in, she shouldn’t be counseling anyone, but she couldn’t argue that James Barnes was way more damaged than she was, and she’d set a pretty low bar. He needed her help, and she’d delayed long enough. Tomorrow they’d begin. Besides, if she waited much longer, she’d have to add Steve to her client list. 

Hilly settled into the recliner and propped her laptop up on her knees. She took a deep breath and pressed play. Tonight she was watching all the cryo footage again to prepare for tomorrow, and she doubted if it was going to be any easier to watch than it had been the first time around.

There Barnes was, enclosed in a cylindrical glass cage, his eyes wide open and staring, muzzle in place. Oh, god. They didn’t even put him to sleep before they froze him. She took a sip of the top-shelf Bourbon T'Challa had gifted her to make her feel at home and steeled for the next part. Two guards stood watch as he began to thaw. The monitors lit up as awareness returned. His muscles seized and twitched, sweat beading on his skin, pouring from him until his skin shone with it and his hair clung wetly to his face. 

He was afraid when he woke, that much was clear. Afraid and weak. She winced as someone in a lab coat ripped out his IV and roughly disconnected him from his cryo tank. The pair of heavily armed guards dragged him out, barefoot, half blind, and terrified while others stood ready, weapons armed and pointed at their Asset. That’s what they called him in the files. The hell with that, and the hell with professionalism. He would be Bucky to her, unless he told her differently.

Hilly downed a hefty swig and squeezed her eyes shut as the liquor burned a warm path down her throat into her belly. She needed to watch, but she wished she didn’t have to. Bucky was placed directly from cryo freeze into the chair. Evil device. Again, such fear, as he was sat in the chair and the restraints locked him down. His chest heaved, his hands clenched, and the screams, oh, the screams. The pain he’d endured, over and over as his mind refused to stay broken. What had it been like for him? No memories, no familiar faces? Being brought out of cryo after years had passed with no idea who he was or what he was or anything more than _obey_ and _pain_. And every time something started to break through, there came the wipe. More pain. 

She had to help him.

She’d broken conditioning in others with not an ounce of his stubborn will. She could do this, if he was willing. If he did his part. She tossed back the rest of the liquor, poured more and cued the next recording. 

####

She wasn’t in the room when they brought Bucky out of cryostasis. Steve was afraid he might turn violent, and as she was a soft, squishy human, she was to wait on the other side of the lab behind a foot thick wall of reinforced bullet-proof glass. She was able to listen, and had a com link to the room, at her insistence. After watching the footage of previous extractions, they were all in agreement that this one would need to be as different as they could possibly make it. 

Hydra’s methods made it clear that Bucky was a tool to them, and his care or comfort was never a consideration. If she saw something she didn’t like, saw him reacting in a way she didn’t like, she could intervene. Steve had her back, insisting she be a part of the process. She believed Steve’s presence was going to be the biggest help. If anything would reassure Bucky Barnes, it would be seeing Steve’s face when he awoke.

The scientist in her was fascinated as she watched the techs manipulate fluids and the computer feeds, bringing Bucky back into the world as gently as possible. Steve stood sentinel. She’d been warned Bucky may be violent as he awoke, and Steve was one of the few who could subdue him, if it became necessary.

It wasn’t.

As gentle as they tried to be, Bucky woke in a panic, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard it set off the alarms on his monitor. As soon as Steve’s voice calling him by name broke through the fugue, he calmed. There was no unnecessary pain, no restraints, no dragging him out for a wipe. His oldest friend was the first thing he saw once his vision cleared. He was helped, not dragged, into a reclining bed to recover, soothing voices in his ear as he was swathed in a warm blanket. She approved. They were treating him as he deserved. It would help, when they began piecing his mind back together.

Steve sat with him for hours, watching him carefully as clarity slowly returned to Bucky’s eyes. Hilly asked the techs to bring food for them both as the time stretched on. She didn’t want to leave either, not until she was sure Bucky knew he was safe. Not until he was speaking.

####

“Is the programming gone?” Bucky asked, his voice rusty and so soft Steve had to lean in to hear him.

His first question. Of course it would be.

“No,” Steve answered, “but we think we found a way. Probably. A person that has broken programming before. She’s good. The best.”

“I’m not a normal case, Steve.”

“I know. I know that, but what the Wakandan scientists can do, and what she can do, has done— I think it'll work.”

Bucky shook his head, “If it doesn’t—”

“Look. There’s no way to just pull the programming out. I wish there was. It’s going to take time, and your cooperation. Full cooperation, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, giving Steve a small smile, “Okay.”

She couldn’t help but think he was just agreeing for Steve’s sake.

####

 

Bucky was drinking a cup of coffee when she was finally cleared to meet him. He’d showered and changed his clothes since she’d seen him last. She supposed if she’d just spent the better part of a year in cryo, she’d want a shower too. He eyed her warily as she entered his room and took a seat opposite him, but he'd answered her knock with a "come in" so in theory, he was at least open to conversation. Considering what she’d read in his files, his distrust of her only made sense. He hadn’t had great experience with doctors, and his last encounter with the psychiatrist-that-wasn’t-one hadn’t been so great either.

“Hi. My name is Dr. Audhilde Zilberschlag. Please call me Hilly. Your friend Steve asked me to help you.”

“He said they haven’t taken out the programming, but you can,” he said, looking for her confirmation. 

“We’ll do our best, but it’s going to be a long road. We’re going to have to discuss your history. Work through your trigger words and deactivate them, one by one. The Wakandans have a device that can scan your brain waves, and a team of specialists in the field of neurology and neurophysics. It’ll help to tell us when we’re close to a trigger, or a trap. I’m hoping it speeds up the process somewhat.”

“A trap?”

“Kill switch. Common in cases like yours,” she said.

He drew in a deep breath, and she could see the thought had never occurred to him. He probably had more fail safes than Ft. Knox. Deprogramming was going to be tricky, and painful, and difficult, but from what she had learned of him, he could do it.

“There’s other cases like me?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Similar, yeah. Unfortunately.”

He nodded, chewing on his lip, “Okay. I’ll do what I have to.”

“Good,” she smiled. “I’m afraid it could get uncomfortable for you.”

He scoffed, “Yeah. I’m used to that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged a shoulder. The metal one.

“How do you feel?” she asked, pointedly looking at his missing limb.

He glanced down at the remains of his cybernetic arm, “A little off balance. Brain is foggy… foggier than usual,” he amended, with a ghost of a smile.

“The lab is working on a new prosthetic for you, but—”

“It’s better to leave it off until I can be counted on not to kill anyone,” he supplied.

“It’s not ready. The technology was something different than they’d ever seen. And yes, they preferred to wait until they could perform the procedure on you without it stirring up any violent reactions.”

He nodded, stung a bit at the truth behind her words.

“I won’t lie to you,” she said, “even if it’s painful. I’d like you to do the same for me.”

He pressed his lips together, considering his next words, “I may refuse to answer.”

Hilly smiled, “More than fair. Answering is always your choice, and I may do the same, but we have to be honest. That’s critical, or else we’re wasting our time.”

Bucky nodded, but she saw the strain in the set of his shoulders.

“Only question I’ll ask today. What would you have me call you? James, or Bucky?”

“Bucky. My father went by James…” his forehead furrowed, searching for the memory, “his middle name.”

“What was your father’s name?” she asked.

Bucky gave her a true smile, “That’s two, Doctor Hilly.”

Wow, did his face transform when he smiled. “Hm?” she asked, trying to remember the question.

“George. George James Barnes. He died in the war,” he looked down into his coffee, the smile gone, “like I did.”

“Hey. You didn’t die. You’re still here. We all are changed by our experiences, and you’ve had more than your fair share, but you are still _you_. And I promise you, I will do everything I can to make sure that no one can take your will again.”

“Yeah. I can’t—” he swallowed hard, “I can’t.”

“I know.” She reached out to lay her hand on his arm, hesitated, leaving it hanging midair a beat too long. Too late. He’d noticed her hesitation. She was out of practice. He narrowed his eyes and shifted his arm closer to her. She started, then got control of herself and simply squeezed his arm briefly and let it go.

“We’ll start tomorrow, if you’re ready. If you need more time, just let me know. Gym and kitchen are a floor below, or during the day you can find something to eat at the lab’s café. There’s a library down there too. If you ever need company, I’m just down the hall in the room across from the stairs. I’ve been here a couple of weeks, so I know my way around pretty well. I also don’t sleep much, so don’t worry about waking me. Steve’s room is just directly across the hall from you.”

“You’re staying here? You and Steve?”

She nodded, “As long as you need me. You’ll have to ask Steve how long he’ll stay, but I know for the first few weeks he’ll be around as much as he can. He’s keeping a low profile at the moment. This is good for him too… and me. Believe me, we’re here because we want to be.”

“So what, we just live here until this stuff in my head is gone?”

“Until it’s controllable, yes. ‘Gone’ is a matter of perspective.”

“And I just…” he gestured to the facilities.

“Yes. Whatever you need to do. T’Challa was clear. You’re a guest, and everyone that’s here is here to help you. This is a secure facility. If there is trouble, it can be locked down.”

“What if I hurt someone? You’ll be locked in here with me.”

“Do you think that’s going to happen?”

“You flinched. Do _you_ think that’s going to happen?”

“My demons, not yours. It might, but I trust you’ll tell me if you think it’s a possibility.”

He dropped his eyes to his lap, “Half the time I was out there, after I remembered who I was, I felt like I was jumping out of my skin. Still, I thought I had things under control, but I didn’t.” He gave her the briefest of glances before dropping his gaze again, swallowed hard, “I get confused… I don’t know what I might do,” he admitted.

“Fair answer. Good answer. Honest. We’ll figure something out.”

His lips twisted in an almost-smile, but the tightness around his eyes and in the stiff set of his shoulders told her more than he was willing to share. She didn’t believe in treating patients with kid gloves. It was good to challenge them, but he’d had enough for today.

“Okay. It’s been a hell of a day. I say you try and settle in as best you can, and I’ll see you in the morning. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

He nodded, his relief easy to read.

She spent the rest of the evening reviewing all of the footage she had of him, and true to her word, she didn’t sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I appreciate the encouragement. :) I hope you liked this installment, and please tell me if you did... it makes my day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter we get into Bucky's head. He and Hilly have some things to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Bucky was doing alright out there on his own... except when he wasn't. I'm enjoying exploring this aspect of a damaged psyche.

Hilly stumbled into the community kitchen as soon as she could classify it as morning. The sun was up, and she was done fighting for sleep. Time to caffeinate and start her day, and it was likely to be a long one. She made the coffee, staring it down as it brewed slower than she’d like. Maybe some eggs to go with her toast today. Would Bucky want to eat? Did he know how to make breakfast? He’d been taking care of himself for two years. Probably. 

She poured a cup of coffee and searched the cabinets for a pan, finding one in short order. 

“Butter, eggs” she murmured, opening the fridge. “Mmm, cheese. Maybe an omelet?”

“Sounds good. Is there enough for me?” came Bucky’s soft rasp from right behind her left shoulder. 

She started, a small sound escaping her as she whirled around to face him. He stood at arm’s length, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a soft grey T-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders.

His small smile faded. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

He looked down at his feet, his hair falling over his face. From the dark purple shadows under his eyes, he’d slept about as well as she had.

Hilly flushed, “Don’t be. I was kind of focused on food, and I haven’t had my proper allocation of coffee yet. I’m very easy to startle without my morning caffeine. Speaking of, coffee?”

“Please.”

She laid out her ingredients on the counter and then showed Bucky where to find a mug. He placed a black mug emblazoned with the red and green flag of Wakanda on the counter and carefully poured himself a cup from the sleek glass carafe.

“You’re gonna have to show me how to work this thing,” he said.

“Sure. It’s an industrial machine; I had to learn how to work it too. Bean grinder in it and everything. I guess Wakandans love their coffee.”

Bucky nodded, “I guess.”

At a loss for what to do with himself, he sure didn’t want to encroach upon her territory in the kitchen, he straddled one of the high barstools on the kitchen island and settled in to wait. According to Steve, she was a brilliant psychiatrist and researcher and she supposed to be able to deactivate his triggers and help him put his mind back together. He didn’t want anyone in his head… hell, the thought terrified him, but Steve had asked him to try and he was determined not to let him down. He’d given up so much to help him, forgiven him when he didn't deserve to be forgiven.

She didn’t look very intimidating, which was probably a good thing. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Soft honey-brown hair that just brushed her jawline, leaving the nape of her vulnerable neck bare, big forest green eyes, and a pair of soft plump lips. Her demeanor was entirely civilian… fine by him. Less time spent convincing himself she wasn’t threatening, the better they could work together.

He hoped her professional skills were better than her omelets. She’d dropped in a shell, and the edges were turning a dark scorched brown while the middle stayed liquid. Bucky grimaced and shook his head. Doc Hilly couldn’t cook. He wasn’t sure he’d be much better, but he’d managed soup and beans okay on the tiny range in his Bucharest apartment. His brow furrowed, he thought he used to be a pretty good cook, before.

When he’d first broken free of Hydra’s mind-control, all he could ever remember in all the time they’d had him was hunger, a constant gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach. He’d been hungry for so many years he’d forgotten what it felt like to be full, forgotten the taste of fresh fruit, chocolate, salty fries. He’d forgotten food was something to enjoy. It had taken him months to force down more than the bare minimum he needed for survival, to force his body’s conditioning to accept what his mind knew. He lifted the steaming cup of coffee to his lips, savoring the smoky, sweet, bitter bite on his tongue. If he had the option, he’d eat good food. Doc Hilly wasn’t making anything close to good food.

He lifted himself off the stool, and slid around the kitchen island to stand near her.

“I’m not a great cook,” she apologized, gesturing with the spatula.

He hummed his agreement, “Mind if I try?”

She stepped away from the range, “Not at all. Maybe I should just stick to toast.”

Bucky snorted, a true smile spreading across his face, making his blue eyes sparkle, “May be the safest bet.”

Bucky dumped the mess in the pan into the trash, and placed the pan in the sink. Rather than scrape out the crusted burnt cheese, he pulled a skillet from the cabinet and set it on the burner, then turned down the heat. A quarter stick of butter, left over from Hilly’s try, went into the pan. Bucky waited until it sizzled, then picked up an egg. He frowned and glanced over at his missing limb. He scowled and cracked the egg against the edge of the skillet with his right hand and dropped it in. He ended up with egg all over his hand, but all of the egg made it into the pan, and none of the shell. Good enough. 

Hilly huffed, “Already better than mine.”

He shrugged, but she saw the satisfaction on his face as he proceeded to crack the rest of the eggs, rinse his hand off, then season with salt and pepper, add in the cheese and move them around with the spatula. It helped that all the ingredients were laid out and open for him. Even the egg wasn’t too much trouble.

“They’ll be scrambled,” he said. _Like me_ , he thought. He thought he might actually be able to manage an omelet, but he was so hungry he didn’t want to chance ruining it.

“Better than I can do. How about some toast and jam? Or butter?”

“Both,” he answered quickly, his stomach grumbling. He hadn’t been able to force much down after they’d… _after_.

_Cold. So cold. Pain, as blood moved sluggishly through his veins, needles in his skin, but worse was coming. Pain so bad his ears bled and jaw ached. Half-blind, weak. Can’t fight. No escape. Never an escape._

“Bucky?”

He blinked rapidly, gave his head a little shake. He’d gone away for a moment there. Bucky drew in a deep breath, held it and blew it out again. He gave the eggs another stir, “Fine,” he said, the word coming out harsher than he’d intended. He softened it with an apologetic shrug. To her credit, she just nodded and let it go.

He finished up the scrambled eggs and cheese and dished out a large portion for himself, and some for her until she said “when,” then took his plate to the small table in the common area where Doc Hilly had laid out a stack of toast, more butter, and a jar of red jam. He stood behind the chair, waiting for her to join him.

“Sit, eat! I’m just getting more coffee,” she explained.

He obeyed, though it felt strange. Manners were always important in his house when he was growing up. His mother would have had words for him, sitting before a lady did. He snorted, amused that of all the things to stick with him, it was good manners. He picked up his fork and dug in, closing his eyes at the taste of rich eggs and melted cheese. It was the lure of cheese that made him brave enough to talk to the doc that morning. 

She sat down across from him and tucked into her own breakfast. He slathered a piece of toast with butter and a heaping spoon of jam and silently gave thanks for some things in the modern era, like an abundance of well-preserved food. And raspberry jam. He liked jam.

Hilly studied him from under her lashes as she ate, honoring his reluctance to talk. The man was eating, and that was a good sign. He probably should go easy on the dairy, but hey, she wasn’t about to tell him no, not after the things she’d seen. She was his shrink, not his doctor. 

Most of the daily footage of him she’d watched was as he was prepped for a mission, or training, but some of it was more mundane, like his meals, if you could call them that. How little and what they fed him was clear indication that he was a weapon, not a man. She figured it was more than nutritionally adequate, but the ancestors of Cliff bars probably didn’t taste much like their modern day equivalent, and he’d not had an ounce of fat on his bones. He looked better now, after two years outside of their control. He was still solid muscle, but he was about two hundred pounds of muscle versus one-seventy, and the hollowed look of his cheeks had filled out.

He followed her example and placed his plate in the sink after rinsing it off once they’d finished their meal. He had questions, but he didn’t know how to ask so he just stood there, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. 

Hilly’s scrutinized his awkward stance. He wasn't leaving. Good. Still, she thought he might need more time. “Did you want to begin today?” she asked, her voice as gentle as she could make it.

His stomach roiled, gorge rising in his throat. He pressed his lips together, “I dunno,” he lied, “but it might help if I knew what was coming.”

“There’s no rush, Bucky. Come on, take a seat, and I’ll tell you what I can.”

He settled back onto the barstool and waited. He didn’t want it to start today, but he wanted to know how she’d planned to fix him. He was imagining progressively worse as he had time to think. Would there be another chair? Would they have to shock him? He’d promised Steve he’d try but he didn’t know if he could do that. 

“Most people in the scientific community don’t believe in brainwashing. It’s supposed to be impossible. At best, you can break down a personality, change the way they think, but acting specifically based upon a set of commands? No.”

Bucky frowned, he didn’t like what he was hearing, but he was listening.

“In the Korean War, from 1950 to about 1953, there were a lot of troops that claimed brainwashing as the reason why they turned on their country. There was a lot of fear that came with that, going to war knowing that was a possibility if you fell into enemy hands. The Cold War marched on, the Soviets had technologies we didn’t, and the accounts of brainwashing kept coming.”

She studied him, watching for signs of stress. This was a sensitive topic, but he needed to understand. He was tense, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his leg, but seemed to be okay so far.

“After years of study, the psychiatric community at large agreed that there had been no brainwashing. The victims weren’t victims at all, they had simply turned. They’d betrayed their country for special favors, more freedom, or relief from torture. After that, no one really believed brainwashing was possible.”

Bucky inhaled sharply, betraying how hard her words hit him. He fought the urge to clench his fist. The idea that what had happened to him, to others, was sold as fake--

She leaned forward and laid her hand on his shoulder, “It wasn’t true. They just couldn’t figure out how to break the conditioning.”

“M’ fine.” He drew in a deep breath and blew it out again, “I am. Keep going.”

“The truth was, the conditioning was unbreakable. See, the Soviets used the Nazi methods, which were based upon the Egyptian methods recorded in the Day of the Dead." She shook her head, "Sorry. I'll get to the point. They fractured the consciousness, induced multiple personality disorder. They created a personality that was what they wanted them to be, loyal, obedient... and that personality takes over. The old sense of self is suppressed until it doesn’t exist anymore, and no one could ever figure out a way to put the pieces back together. Rather than admit that the KGB, which is the Soviet Secret Service—“

“I know the KGB. Them and the CIA,” Bucky cut in, distaste twisting his features, “I remember them.”

“Rather than say the KGB had a weapon we couldn’t replicate, they discredited the victims,” she finished.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. That struck a nerve. So much for taking care of the fallen.

“Funny you mention CIA,” she continued after a moment, “I was recruited out of college to work on a special project for them. I was told it was to do the impossible, break unbreakable conditioning. I was supposed to help put people, victims that had their lives stolen from them, back together. I worked for them for ten years, and I thought I was making a difference. Helping.”

Bucky nodded, that sounded like a noble cause.

“Unfortunately, I was being lied to. I didn’t even know how much or how badly until a couple of weeks ago. They just wanted to put ‘unbreakable’ to the test. If you can’t beat them… well, we needed a program too. The CIA started their own agenda. The MK Ultra Program. Create puppets, house them into general populations, and activate them at will. Terrorists that would never know they were terrorists, with unbreakable conditioning. What a useful tool. These subjects were the ones I’d been working with. I wasn't trying to break the KGB’s damage, but our own.”

She closed her eyes and took her own deep breath. It stung, realizing how badly she'd been duped. If the CIA ever learned what she and Jak knew about The Program, they'd be dead. Well, _she'd_ be dead. She wasn't as well connected as he was. Sometimes it was better not knowing.

“Did you do it? Break the unbreakable?” Bucky asked, his voice tight.

Hilly sighed, “I was able to break the triggers. But the people didn’t--” her voice broke, losing the tight reign she had on her emotions.

Bucky swallowed hard through his fear and disappointment. He should have known better than to hang his hopes on a miracle solution.

He cocked a brow at her, “So the answer is, not completely.” 

“Their minds weren’t able to accept it when they were merged back into one personality. The conditioning had effectively killed the other person. If I would have had more time, I think I might have brought one or two of them back, but their minds weren’t like yours. Your mind wasn’t broken, not completely. It kept repairing itself. I don’t know if that’s just part of who you are, or your serum, or both, but they didn’t kill Bucky Barnes.”

At that, he dropped his gaze, unable to bear the admiration shining in her eyes.

He wasn’t so sure they hadn’t killed him. The person he’d been wasn’t exactly alive anymore. He caught fragments in his dreams, flashes of memory where he felt like he used to, but it was like chasing a mirage trying to find his old self. Just going to the market was an exercise in determination, but he’d fought through it, and he’d fight through this.

God, he was a mess though, wasn’t he? This suffocating anxiety wasn’t a part of him, not how he remembered. Some days he felt pretty good. He could be polite, hold a normal conversation, and others he’d be confronted with a memory or a feeling, and his chest would feel as if it was in a vice, he’d be sweating bullets, and his lungs stopped working. With a gun in his hand, fighting beside Steve again, it felt right, but now it came crashing down on him why he hadn’t reached out to him, why he’d been determined to go it alone. 

He wasn’t ready. 

Hilly had made a simple statement that he hadn’t died. He’d survived… and it was enough to make him fray around the edges. He wasn’t ready, but he wanted to be. He wanted to be himself again. More than that, he just wanted to feel safe, to be safe around others, and that could never be with these protocols built into him. Even if it meant another chair, he had to get the protocols out. Even if it killed him. At least then he'd be safe.

She waited until he was breathing slow and steady and he was able to look up at her, his clear blue gaze calm.

“What do I have to do?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like it in Bucky's head. And yes, MK Ultra was a thing, and I took some liberties.
> 
> I hope you are enjoying reading this. If so, please let me know, yeah? Encouragement is always awesome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilly gives Bucky some food for thought, and a glimpse of what he has coming...
> 
> The song "Pain Lies On the Riverside" by Live is a good accompaniment to this chapter.

Hilly was taken aback. His jaw was set, resolution in his eyes, but she couldn’t miss the fine tremor of his hand, or the twitching muscle in his cheek. Bucky was plainly invested in taking back his life, but he was visibly anxious. 

“You’ve already started. You’ve come remarkably far on your own. It can’t have been easy.”

Bucky shrugged. Truth was, it had been hell, especially in the beginning. The nightmares, the times he woke up and he couldn’t remember who he was, or where he was. The choking paranoia he lived with every day, terrified they’d find him and erase what he’d worked so hard to remember. Turn him back into a weapon. An empty shell. The rage he struggled with, and the frustration of being unable to give it a target. He wanted to burn the remnants of Hydra to the ground for what they’d stolen, but more than that, he’d wanted to be free. He couldn’t have both, and now he didn’t have either.

“What’s next? Heal. Recover. Get used to being you again. We’ll do sessions every day where we just talk, some where we do exposure therapy, and others where we break your trigger words. Those can get uncomfortable, but we can pull back anytime you want. If it gets to be too much, we’ll stop. It’s important for you to know that. You’re in control.”

He nodded, unclenched his fist and surreptitiously wiped his damp palm on his thigh. They were just words, but it made him feel better. 

“Dr. Jakande, our neurosurgeon, mapped your brain while you were in cryostasis. We’ll monitor your brain activity during the sessions as we work to remove any compulsions to obey directives. As we make progress, we’ll adjust strategies as we need to.” 

“Will I—“ he paused, the question choking him. He clenched his jaw so hard he was sure she could hear his teeth grind. He cleared his throat, “Will I need to be restrained?” he forced out.  
Hilly had considered it; she knew he had reacted violently in the past. She’d have to be stupid to think that he wouldn’t hurt her just because he didn’t want to. The footage of what had happened to Bucky every time he was strapped down was enough to cement it. Ultimately she’d decided it would be too detrimental to his recovery. Straightjackets and restraints had been heavily used to ensure his compliance, and she had to emphasize everything was his choice. She’d have to trust his control, safety be damned.

She shook her head, “No. If it becomes necessary, we’ll find another way.”

He nodded slowly, but he was still worried about something. “No electroshock either,” she hazarded. “It wouldn’t do anything to you but hurt.”

He let out a shuddering sigh and gifted her with a wisp of a smile, “Yeah, okay. Good.”

“Can I show you around? You can see where we’ll be working. Might make you feel better.” 

Anything to stop what he was feeling right now. He was remembering, but he’d been doing his damnedest not to examine anything he’d recovered too deeply. It was more pain than he was ready for. Seemed like the time for avoidance was over. 

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

###

Bucky had already explored all the parts the facility he had access to, but he listened with interest as Hilly guided him through all of the common areas. She had an easy way about her, and it was a good way to take her measure without needing to talk about himself. It was asking a lot out of him to trust her. He didn’t even know her. Steve trusted her though, and he trusted his judgement, present company excluded. Steve didn’t have a lick of sense when it came to him. 

Bucky knew he wasn’t the same, probably never would be the same, but Steve just saw his pal from Brooklyn. If he really knew the things he’d done… Bucky gave his head a viscous shake. No good to think of that now. According to the doc, he’d be doing that on a daily basis from here on out. He wasn’t keen to get it started early.

The library was huge, outfitted with a couple soft sofas and a set of overstuffed chairs. Hilly said they could get anything they wanted to read in electronic form. She promised to show him how to access it later. Steve was still in the gym working a heavy bag when Hilly led him into the room. He’d been going at it for at least a couple of hours. Seemed like Bucky wasn’t the only one that was feeling uneasy. 

Steve gave the doc a polite nod as she entered the room. Bucky had to fight the urge to drop his eyes when Steve turned his attention to him. He was hiding out because of him, and despite how hard Steve argued that he was worth it, he would do it again, he couldn’t stop the guilt that sat like a ballast on his chest.  
“Hey, Buck. I see you found Hilly okay. She showing you around?” Steve asked.

His words were casual, but Bucky knew Steve was really asking. _Are you okay here? Can you do this? Can I help?_

“Yeah. Got some breakfast, taking the tour.” _I’m fine. Stop worrying about me._

Steve nodded, “Gym’s open, when you’re done. The medical guys said it’d be good for you to get moving.” _I’m gonna worry, you jerk. You know I’m here, right?_

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, “Right. Yeah, I’ll do that.” _I know._

Hilly watched the exchange, a line forming between her brows as she tried to puzzle out the subtext. Steve was an important part of Bucky’s recovery, and she hoped he was going to be up to the task. It wasn’t going to be easy on him either. From what she knew of Steve Rogers’ history, he was likely in need of recovery himself. She gave a nod of approval to Bucky for agreeing to come back and spend some time in the gym with Steve. It would be good for him. For them.

“Ready to see the rest?” she asked. 

The lab, her office. No, he wasn’t. 

He nodded again, “Yeah.” 

What he wanted didn’t really matter. This was about what he needed. He tried on a rusty smile for Steve to sell it, but it didn’t sit right, felt more like a grimace. He let it slip from his face and moved to follow her before he lost his nerve.

She let him down the hall to a key card locked reinforced door. He hadn’t seen this part of the facility, no access. So it seemed his sessions would be conducted here, through an additional level of security. It probably was a good thing. This portion of the building was different from the rest, all hard white planes and clear glass. This was part of the same facility he’d been kept in during his cryosleep, but he hadn’t seen this hallway before. 

Hilly walked Bucky through the research wing towards her makeshift office. She took pains to make it less clinical, but there was really only so much you could do with a room that was part lab. Bucky stopped in the doorway, failing to follow her into the room. She tried to look at it from his perspective, the monitors, the sensors built into the headrest of the chair, the camera in the corner of the room, the panic button not so subtly hidden at her desk. He chewed on his lip and looked to the ground.

“What do you think? Any changes we need to make?” she asked, hoping he would share what made him so uneasy.

Bucky squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, “Looks safe.” 

She tilted her head and tried to follow his eye line. “The camera, or the call switch?”

“What’s in the chair? You didn’t need to hide it from me. I know what I am.”

Bemused, she shook her head and turned to look at the modified recliner Jak and his team had outfitted with the sensors necessary to map Bucky’s brain activity during their sessions. Leather would have been better suited, but she’d asked for a soft upholstery instead. The chair he’d sat in in the videos was little more than a modified medical table with built in restraints. She wondered what else he’d suffered in that chair that hadn’t been captured on film.

“Sensors,” she answered, “That’s it. What we need to map your brain during our sessions and monitor your vital signs. I didn’t want you hooked to a bunch of wires.”

He set his jaw, “That’s all? Nothing to incapacitate me?”

She gave a short laugh, “No. No, of course not.”

“This,” he gestured at the camera and the panic button, “it’s not enough.”

“You were alone for two years. Did you hurt anyone?”

He stared at her, struck dumb by the question. That wasn’t the same, not at all. 

“Bucky, did you hurt anyone?”

“No, but I was alone. I was alone for a _reason._ It’s not _safe_ to go digging around in here,” he tapped his temple, “without a way to take me out.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Hilly disagreed.

“I do. _I do!_ I can’t do this if I think you’ll be in danger.”

“I won’t be. You need to learn to trust yourself, and that can’t happen if you know someone’s waiting to tranq you.”

Bucky sighed, “I can’t,” he answered, heat gone, voice laced with sadness. “Not yet.”

“Compromise?” Hilly asked softly.

He met her gaze, “I’m listening.”

Hilly debated the wisdom of this, but she had to have his full buy-in, and it seemed she’d finally found a sticking point. If she was to ever use the failsafe, it would set him back. Way back. 

“You have a trigger word that renders you unconscious. I don’t know it, and that’s because I won’t use it. It would be an absolute last resort. I will learn it on one condition; you need to understand I won’t use it unless I believe I’m going to die.”

Bucky sucked in a hard breath. It might be enough, if he could convince her to use it. “If I lose control, you’ll have to use it. If you wait, it may be too late.”

Hilly shook her head in the negative, “I’ll be the judge of when I need to use it. And eventually, that trigger will have to go too.”

Bucky considered it. In his experience, people believed they were braver than they were. If it came down to it, and she was scared, she could shut him down. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

“We can try it.”

Hilly gave him a small smile, “Good.”

The rest of the tour was less exciting, but he was glad for it. He’d had enough confrontation and emotion for the day. He thought when they took him out of the freezer that they’d just pull the programming out of him. Just get it out of his head. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Wasn’t sure it would even work. Felt like he was drowning. Weighted down with all he’d done and people kept expecting him to swim. 

Hilly walked him back to the gym. Back to Steve. He wasn’t sure it was such a great idea anymore to work out with him, but he could at least show enough nerve to tell him so to his face. She gave him a little push and a smile at the door.

“It’s all right. He needs you too, you know,” she said.

His forehead creased. No. Steve didn’t really need him anymore. All he’d done was screw up the life he’d been trying to build.

Hilly knew he was having a rough time, but he had to take these steps on his own, as much as she’d like to help him. Time to go.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” she said. “That phone they gave you is untraceable, it only works here in Wakanda. Closed transmissions, so don’t be afraid to use it. It’s programmed with my number, Steve’s, and Dr. Jakande’s. If you need something, please call one of us?”

“Yeah.” Sure. He swallowed down the lump rising in his throat and walked over to Steve, still hitting the heavy bag like it had stolen his train money.

“Hey, Steve.”

Steve stilled the bag and turned to face him. He took in Bucky’s stance, the tense line of his shoulders. Something had shaken him.

“Want to go for a run?” he offered. He thought sparring would be off the table for a little while.

Bucky glanced at the pair of treadmills in the corner dubiously.

Steve gave a short laugh, “Outside. Those things don’t work for us.”

 _Us._ Yeah, he guessed Steve was right. “I can go out?”

Steve made a moue of distaste, “Within a parameter, but yeah.”

“Yeah. Run would be good.”

If he only knew how good it would feel to just run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, people. Please let me know what you think. My muse needs your encouragement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilly visits T'Challa and Steve and Bucky get some quality time to discuss things. Loudly.

Having safely deposited Bucky with Steve, Hilly made her way back to the research wing for her appointment with King T'Challa to give him an update on his guest. She shook her head again at the thought of whose company she was keeping these days. Captain America, Bucky Barnes, and the actual King of Wakanda. Real, legitimate, royalty.

She didn't have to wait long, and one of the resident cats helped her pass the time by demanding ear rubs and snuggles. She laughed as the cat progressed from demanding attention to demanding her lap where it promptly curled up and closed its eyes. There weren't any cats in the suites where guests were housed, but they were allowed to wander as they wanted elsewhere. She figured it had something to do with Bast, the deity the Wakandans worshiped. Whatever reason, they sure liked cats.

She wasn't sure how Steve or Bucky felt about them, but she wished one or two, especially the sweet little tortie cat drooling and kneading her leg in her lap, were allowed access to her suite. It would probably help her sleep better. She hadn't had a cat since she was a kid. She'd been away from home too much thanks to work, and then when she was fired from The Project, she'd been too depressed to consider how much a pet would have helped. Like she always said, psychiatrists were always the most fucked up people she knew, and she was no exception.

T'Challa was gracious to a fault, and more down-to-earth than she would imagine royalty to be. Wakanda was unique in culture, so it followed that its king would be too. He listened curiously to her account of how things were going so far, and was quick to offer any assistance she needed. Good news, T'Challa was fine with allowing the facility cats into the personal suites, provided neither Steve nor Bucky had any aversion to it. She thought she could sell Steve on therapeutic benefits, and as for Bucky… she'd just have to see.

Bad news, Bucky's new prosthetic was taking longer than they thought it would. T'Challa's scientists were amazing, and although there was progress being made on Bucky's new prosthetic arm, there were some obstacles regarding the biometric integration. Obstacles that a mind like Tony Stark's could overcome. T'Challa had filled her in on Mr. Stark's opinion of Bucky, and made it clear that he wasn't likely to offer up his help. Ever. Still, she couldn't imagine anyone's heart was so hard that they could watch what had been done to James Barnes and still blame him for his deeds under mind control. Maybe she could do something about that.

###

"Ready to go, Buck? You need to change first?

Bucky glanced down at his sweatpants and slip on canvas athletic shoes. Seemed like Converse hadn't changed much except for the lack of laces. They'd been pretty much the only option back in his day, so he figured they'd do for him now. He preferred a tighter fit, but he wasn't about to ask Steve to both find him some lace-ups and then ask him to tie them for him. He scowled as he looked over at his missing arm, wondering how long he'd wait for a replacement.

Bucky looked up at Steve, "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

Steve cut his eyes towards him, concern etched in his face, but Bucky didn't want to deal with it. He just wanted to get away from walls and sympathy, and tough questions he couldn't answer and memories that wouldn't let him alone.

Steve was quiet as he let him through the labyrinth-like facility and out into the moist tropical air. The thick canopy surrounding them was as good a cover as possible in a natural environment. Some of the tension drained out of his shoulders; aerial observation would be near impossible.

"Wakanda isn't the easiest place to get into. We're as safe here as we are anywhere, as long as we keep near the compound. Trust me, I checked it myself," Steve said.

Bucky nodded, accepting Steve's assurances. He'd be willing to accept the risk at any rate if it meant he didn't have to be confined within the compound's walls 24/7.

"So Hilly, she's—"

"Can we just run?" Bucky cut him off. "I just need to not think for a while, okay?"

"Okay. Yeah, let's go."

It took some time, but finally his mind cleared as his muscles worked. He was too warm and his gait was awkward thanks to his missing arm, but he managed a comfortable pace. Steve made sure not to keep too far ahead in the beginning, but relaxed into his normal pace once he realized Bucky wasn't much slower. Full strength, he might be able to catch him. Someday, he'd like to find out. Not today, though. Today he just needed to run. Thankfully, Steve stopped trying to talk to him after the first few rebuffs. He hated that Steve let him off the hook so easy; it wasn't like him, but he couldn't help but feel grateful he did.

An hour in and he was starting to relax. He almost stumbled as the memories began to wash over him, caught off-guard and torn between stopping right there and pushing it out of his mind and remembering like Hilly told him he'd have to.

_Enemy mortars exploded, far too close. They were overrun and backed into a corner. Bucky gripped his rifle and closed his eyes. He was going to die in a muddy ditch, and there was nothing he could do but try to take out as many of the Nazis as he could and pray for reinforcements that would likely never arrive. The enemy started dropping around them, some new weapon unlike anything he'd ever seen. The elation died in his chest as the Hydra tank crested the hill. Not saved. Doomed._

_Strapped down to a table, electric shock to the base of his skull every time he tried to sleep. Injected with something that burned like acid… fire through his veins. He screamed himself hoarse and begged to die, but he didn't die, even as he watched men from his company die from the same. Watched as Sammy Russo writhed and screamed, veins standing out on his skin, until it was too much and his heart burst. But not Bucky. Bucky couldn't die._

_He repeated his name, rank, serial number, just as the Army told him to do if questioned, but no one asked any questions. What did they want with him? He wanted to die. Maybe he was already dead._

_Steve was there, shaking him. He'd died then? No? Steve was there? How? Steve helped him up, told him they were leaving. How could this be Steve? Steve wasn't the broad-shouldered man standing taller than Bucky's own respectable six-foot frame. No time, they had to leave. Army experiment. Permanent. Painful._

_Steve fighting a real, actual monster. Red Skull, and stood by him the scientist that had tried his best to turn his brain inside out. Bucky felt the gorge rise in his throat and gripped the railing next to him. How could they get out of this? And Steve, how could that be Steve? Strong, fighting this nightmare right in front of him?_

_Explosions all around as the Red Skull escaped. Running up, crossing an I-beam on shaky legs. He could barely walk and he had to hold his balance, but he hadn't escaped to die like this. A desperate leap and he was across, but Steve… Steve stood on the other side of the abyss._

_"Get out of here!"_

_"No! Not without you!"_

_No. No, he'd die rather than to leave him. Steve was his best friend, his brother, his family._

_Bucky's heart beating so hard it might leap out of his chest as he watched Steve bend the railing out of his way (What?) and run and jump the span._

Bucky came back to the present, his feet beating the dirt path in a rhythmic tattoo, Steve's form just ahead. Sweat ran into his eyes, and he swiped it away with the tail of his shirt. Another part of his past recovered. He'd write this one down too, with the others. Thinking back, he knew this was the real beginning of the Winter Soldier. No one had questioned afterwards why he was a little stronger, faster, why the sharpshooter accuracy he was known for got even better from farther away, why he never got sick. Next to Captain America, it was hard to notice the small changes that marked him after Zola's experiments, but they were there. His memory, for one. Steve's was eidetic after his procedure… handy thing for the Commandoes. Bucky's was too. Every memory preserved as if he was watching it on film right in front of his eyes, until they'd been taken. Stolen.

Bucky growled and pushed his pace harder, faster, trying to outrun the rage that was threatening to consume him, burn him alive.

Another memory, Steve reaching out for his hand.

_He dangled over the deep ravine, but he hadn't fallen. The metal groaned and creaked, he reached out for Steve's hand and… falling. Pain. Cold._

Bucky shook that one off. No, he didn't need to revisit that one. It had been one of the first to come back to him after he'd escaped Hydra's control. He concentrated on watching Steve navigate the jungle trail ahead of him, dodging overgrown roots and rocks, finding his way with a natural grace he hadn't had as a scrappy kid with a big mouth and more balls than guys twice his size.

_Chasing the target down. He knew the area, but the Asset knew it better. It had been memorized as part of his mission brief. The target was small, fast, and scared. He had eliminated the diplomat as mission dictated, but the child had seen him leave. No witnesses had been clearly stated in his mission directive. He must obey. The sickly blond boy with blood on his lip had reminded him of- what? Confusion. No. He didn't have a past. The boy reminded him of someone, and he hesitated, and the child ran. Failure was inexcusable. Failure meant pain. Complete the mission. He raised his pistol, sighted on the terrified child's pale face, and put a bullet between his sky blue eyes._

Steve. The kid had looked like Steve, and he'd still killed him.

Bucky stumbled and fell hard, his body curling into an instinctive roll as he struck the ground. Breath coming fast, pulse pounding in his ears, he stared up at the thick canopy spinning above him. He dug his fingers into the dirt, searching for equilibrium. Memories of Bucky Barnes were tough to swallow, but they felt like a part of him and as hard as they got, he welcomed them. Memories of the Asset… he ran from. The emptiness, _the mission_ , the mission above all else, and the cold calculation behind the kill. The satisfaction he'd felt when the child's lifeless body dropped to the ground. How many innocents had he killed? How could he ever come back from this? The memory started again, blending with the memory of pounding Steve's face on the helicarrier, screaming that he was his mission, all on an endless loop in full Technicolor.

"Bucky?" Steve called out, realizing he wasn't behind him anymore.

Steve swung around and headed back the way he came, fighting back a wave of panic. Not far behind, Bucky lay prone at the edge of the dirt path, his trembling body curled in on itself, eyes clenched tightly shut, arm wrapped around his head. Steve heaved a sigh of relief; he'd found him. He approached cautiously, mindful that Bucky may not be Bucky at that moment. He'd taken a chance by taking them out of the compound, but Bucky had that hunted look on his face and he knew what it felt like. He did the best thing he could think of to help his friend, but maybe not the smartest.

"Bucky, you with me?" he asked.

Bucky didn't move. Steve crouched beside him, "Bucky?" He gripped Bucky's shoulder and gave him a little shake, "Bucky, it's Steve. Can you hear me?"

Bucky's forehead creased, a wounded sound escaping him, then lightning fast he reached for Steve. Steve shifted back, expecting something like this, but Bucky only went for a grip on his arm, not his throat. Bucky's eyes opened, vivid blue with too much of the whites showing, his gaze going right through him.

"Hey, pal?" Steve tried again, his voice soft.

"Steve?" Bucky replied, his voice wrecked. "I can't do this. I can't. I've done—"

"Wasn't you," Steve insisted. Why was it so hard to understand? Why was it so hard for Bucky to understand?

Bucky closed his eyes again, let go of Steve and dashed away the tears and sweat from his cheeks with an impatient swipe, slowly coming back to himself. What Steve didn't understand was that in Bucky's mind, it _was_ him. Just because he wasn't in control didn't make it forgivable. Not to him. He didn't deserve it. Even if he did, he couldn't see how he could find a way to live with it. Right now, with the kid's dead eyes and Steve's bloody face in the front of his mind, he didn't want to. Maybe cryosleep hadn't been the right answer.

"I should have died."

Something on his face must have shown where his mind was because Steve's grip tightened on his shoulder to the point of pain. He cracked his eyes open, shook Steve's hand off his arm and pushed himself up to a seated position.

"Buck—"

"Lay off, Steve. I'm just—" he shook his head, unable to put it into words. Wouldn't say it anyway because the truth was something Steve really didn't want to hear, and that tight, pale, scared look on his face was more than he could handle on top of everything else. He didn't know what to say to reassure him, because he'd know it was a lie. Steve'd see right through him, just like he always did.

"No," Steve argued, his voice taking on that calm authoritative tone he always used with his troops. "No, not gonna happen. Look, we'll get you back to Hilly and she-"

Bucky glared at him, his lip curling into a sneer. Steve'd never known when to stop running his mouth, but now would have been a good time to give it a try. "She'll do what? Put me back together like I'm some broken toy?"

Steve's jaw clenched, heat rising into his cheeks.

Bucky lifted his chin, score one for Barnes. Takin' that tone with him…

"She can help you," Steve gritted out from between his teeth.

Bucky leapt to his feet. "Stop tryin' to fix me! Do you know that dame wants to get into my head without me in any sort of restraints? Thinkin' some safe word is gonna be enough to protect her? I could kill her before she blinked and not even know why I was doing it."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky wasn't going to let him.

"You can't fix this. I killed _kids_ , Steve. And all I thought when I did it was that it was a job well done." Bucky gave him a fierce stare, "I need to be put down."

Steve looked angry before, but this... it was different. This was rage. Bucky felt himself take a step back before he realized it. Angry that he was backing off from Steve of all people, he planted his heels and squared his shoulders.

Steve clenched his fists at his sides, his back ramrod straight. "No. You've been dead to me all these years and I can't tell you how many times I wished it had been me. You had plans for your life, you had your ma and your sisters back home waiting for you. You wanted to go home, but you chased me all over Europe because I asked you to, and it got you killed. It got you taken by Hydra. If it's anyone's fault that this happened to you, it's mine. If you want someone to blame for all you've done, blame me. And I'm sorry I brought you out like this. That's my fault too. Blame me, but you're not gonna give up. "

"I followed you. My choice. If you thought I was gonna let you go off without me being there to watch your back, then you're more stupid than I thought," Bucky argued.

Steve sighed, "But you're gonna leave me now?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Bucky pressed his lips together. That was a low blow. No, damn it. No, he couldn't just quit. "And what if I can't do this? Like it or not, I'm dangerous. Even if Hilly gets this out of my head, I'm ten kinds of fucked up."

Steve gave a short laugh. "Bucky… you can. I know you. You're too stubborn to let them win. After everything they did to you, you're still here. You plan on letting them take what's left?"

Bucky looked at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

"You know they named a medal for you? The Barnes Medal of Valor. Awarded posthumously for acts of exceptional valor. I presented the last one to the kid's mother along with his burial flag. Make it mean something."

Bucky's shoulders rounded, "I'm not that guy anymore."

"Really? How'd you lose that arm, Buck? Running away from a fight and tripped?"

Bucky's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, you're dangerous," Steve agreed, "And so am I. Hydra is still out there, so let's use that to take them down. We get your head cleaned up, and then we clean them out. Turn their weapon against them."

Bucky scrubbed his hand over his face, "Cut one off, two more grow. That's a lot of heads to cut off."

"You're pretty good at that."

Bucky sighed, "Got a lot of work to do first." He tapped his temple, "We make this safe, and then we'll talk."

Steve nodded, "You with me then?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, pal. I'm _still_ with ya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got quite long! I hope you're enjoying this… please let me know if you dig it? (or not). I'm kind of feeling like I'm tossing this out to the cold, dark, emptiness of space. My muse finds it hard to survive in the abyss. Comments are love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Hilly spend some time together and he gets to try her patented remedy for insomnia.

Hilly balanced a carryout container full of suya, a spicy meat skewer, ugali, a sort of very thick cornmeal porridge served at almost every meal, and some fried plantains in her arms as she tried to kneel down and put them in front of Bucky’s door. The compound’s café served up some amazing cuisine, but she hoped what she was bringing was something Bucky would eat. Perhaps she should have went with the plain grilled chicken? The suya was wonderful though, and she’d wanted to share that with someone else that might find it exciting and new. Bucky said he loved good food, and this definitely met that definition.

She figured if she didn’t bring him something, he’d just go without or try to find something cold in the community kitchen. She couldn’t help wanting to take care of him, as silly as it sounded. He was an incredibly dangerous, skilled, fighting machine that was six feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle. He wasn’t a puppy. Despite it all, she still wanted to wrap him up and bring him hot chocolate. Dangerous territory for his therapist. God, what was she doing? She told herself she was just being a friend to someone that had a significant shortage in that area and let it go.

She carefully stacked the containers, then stuck the post it note she’d written on the top so Bucky would see it and know it was from her. She paused, debating if she should wait nearby for him to come back from his run with Steve. The note may not be enough to convince him the food was okay to eat. She nibbled at her thumbnail and then decided to just leave the door to her room open and listen for him. 

Hilly peeked her head out the door as she heard the men coming down the hallway. Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder and headed into his own room, and Hilly stepped out to let Bucky know his lunch was indeed, from her. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but was struck mute by the look on his face as Steve turned away and entered his own quarters. Whatever had happened on their run, it had affected him badly. 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath and exhaled, then repeated the sequence three more times. He ran a hand though his hair, and sighed, wearing defeat like a shroud. She started to go to him, but he shook himself and seemed let the moment go. She closed the door softly and went back to her research as she saw him read the note on her lunch offering and smile.

Bucky frowned as he noticed the Styrofoam containers piled outside his door. He read the attached note and let himself smile. Seemed the doc was worried he wouldn’t feed himself. He’d hate to break it to her, but of all things for him to forget these days, eating wasn’t one of them. He appreciated the gesture, anyway. She was a nice dame, if a little naive. He scooped it up, glad for the distraction. It smelled good, if wholly unfamiliar. After sampling a bit of everything, he tucked in with gusto. The meat skewers were incredibly spicy, but he found that he kind of liked it, especially with the cornmeal porridge. He’d have to stop in and thank Hilly, and find out what the hell he’d been eating so he could get it again.

He stripped out of his sweaty clothes and headed into the bathroom, his eyes skating past his reflection uneasily. He didn’t spend much time in front of mirrors if he could help it, but at least he could look at himself now. When he’d first went on the run from Hydra, looking at himself for too long would leave him curled up on himself on the floor, his mind howling. He’d flash back to hazy memories of the amputation of the rest of his left arm, memories of clawing at the seam where metal joined skin until they’d locked his arms down. Gradually, it got better.

It had become a part of him, and now it was gone, and he tried not to think of himself as less than whole. He did, though. 

His shoulder ached, and he looked forward to letting the seemingly unending supply of hot water take the worst of the edge off. He turned the taps on as hot as he could stand it, and stepped under the spray, letting the warmth soak into his bones. The tension drained out of his shoulders, the muscles going loose and languid as he breathed in steam and let the sweat, disappointment, and memories wash off of him. Steve was right about one thing. He was a survivor, and he’d survived, despite what it cost him to do it.  
He emerged from the shower, his mood considerably lighter than when he entered. Bucky used one of the incredibly soft cotton towels to dry off and dug out another pair of sweatpants. Everything in his suite was soft, from the towels to the fine cotton sheets to his clothing. He wondered if that was just something that came with staying as a guest of the king. 

Bucky tilted his head as he heard one of the doors in their hall way open and close. The tread was too light to be Steve, so it had to be Hilly. He opened his door a crack and peeked out just as she was passing by. Her hand flew up to her throat, her eyes wide as she jumped back.

“Sorry, sorry!” Bucky said, “I just wanted to thank you for the food.”

Hilly gave an embarrassed smile, her heart still racing. “No problem.” 

She swallowed hard, confronted with Bucky fresh from the shower, his still dripping hair swept back from his face, exposing that amazing sharp jawline, and a whole lot of skin visible through the door he held partly open. Her eyes followed a droplet of water as it traced a path from just below his ear, down his neck, over his broad chest and taut stomach to disappear in the fabric of his low slung pants. She snapped her eyes back up to his face, hoping he hadn’t noticed she’d been thinking of what it would be like to chase that little droplet with her tongue. His vivid blue eyes bright with amusement, he gave her the barest hint of a smirk. She was afraid he had. 

“The café has great food. I don’t know what half of the food is, but they’ve never given me anything bad. You and Steve should try it out for dinner. Steve loves the place.”

Bucky’s expression turned uncomfortable, but he nodded, “Yeah. Might do that.”

“Great. See you tomorrow morning? Breakfast again first?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile, “I’ll cook.”

She chuckled, “I’ll coffee.”

“Deal. See you later, Doc Hilly.”

“Goodnight, Bucky. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah.” 

He closed the door, wishing there was a little more of the old him still in him to ease the empty spaces in conversations. He knew it used to come easy for him, but now he couldn’t seem to find the words. He sighed, dropped into the desk chair and grabbed his journal and began to write. Good, bad, ugly, it didn’t matter. He wrote it all down in excruciating detail. Steve had recovered his old notebooks and left them in his room for him to find, but he hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to ask him if he’d read them.

#####

Hilly didn’t need to review the video feeds of Bucky’s internment with Hydra, but she had. She was admittedly nervous to begin sessions with him, and overcompensating, but all it had done was make things worse. She’d laid in her bed staring at the ceiling, hearing Bucky’s tortured screams echoing in her head. Finally, she gave it up. Maybe if she watched some old movies she could take her mind off of what was ahead long enough to get some sleep. 

She padded down the hallway her bed’s massive duvet wrapped around her, down the stairs and into the community kitchen and set a pot of milk with a dash of vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon to warm on the stove. She could microwave it, but it never seemed the same that way. While she waited, she went to the cabinet in the common area to look through the video library. According to Jak, when the government scientists were working on a project they’d sometimes stay in the suites rather than leave at the end of a long day. The lounge was also open to them if they needed to take a break, or a nap, and was well stocked with movies as well as equipped with NetFlix. 

It seemed the Wakandans also had a serious fascination with eighties and nineties era American movies as well as a huge collection of black and white classics. It was odd, and it made her smile, but she wasn’t complaining. There was some great stuff in the collection.

When she complemented T’Challa on his facility, he’d remarked that he’d studied Google’s business model and wanted his employees to be as happy. Wakanda was renowned for its technological advances. He must be doing something right.

She flipped through her options, discarding _Tombstone_ after a moment’s consideration. Not in the mood. Paused longer on _The Princess Bride_ , but after remembering the scene with Westley’s screams, she moved on. _Ghost?_ No. Definitely not. _Rudy?_ Nah, not tonight. _Edward Scissorhands_ … that one was a bit too close for comfort. Pass. _Blast from the Past_ , oh god, no! She wasn’t quite at the _Steel Magnolias_ stage of things, but maybe _Untamed Heart_. Christian Slater as the shy busboy, quiet and mysterious, and Marissa Tomei who finally finds her perfect guy, and the ending. Talk about a tearjerker, something she desperately needed. Get all these emotions out. 

Hilly poured a mug of warm milk and turned the heat down low to keep the rest warm in case she wanted more. Hopefully she’d get past this bout of insomnia and she wouldn’t need it.

She curled up in the corner of the enormous couch on the east wall and settled in with the lights low, letting the tragic romance begin to play out in front of her. For at least a short time, she didn’t want to think about the crushing responsibility she felt she’d shouldered when she said she could put James Barnes back together, especially when she hadn’t even put herself back together yet. She took a sip of her milk and settled in to watch as poor Caroline tried to figure out her life and Adam tried to figure out how to get Caroline when he can’t even talk to her. She smiled as Caroline talked enough for the both of them, letting herself get wrapped up in the story.

“Hilly? Are you okay?”

She jumped and let out a little shriek, “Bucky! You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing up?”

“Sorry. Just had trouble sleeping. Thought I’d walk around, and then I heard voices in here.”

She dabbed her eyes surreptitiously, and smiled up at him. The movie had just gone to end credits, the strains of Nat King Cole’s Nature Boy playing in the background, so she let it go. “Just me. Couldn’t sleep either. Thought I’d watch a sad chick flick.”

A crease formed between his brows, “Chick flick?”

Hilly grinned, “Just a term for movies women generally enjoy. Female protagonists, emotional stories, I have it on good authority that men like this one too. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good action movie, but there is something about a good tearjerker that I really enjoy. This one I just finished, the script is pretty terrible, but the characters are so good and actors are amazing, and there’s something really great about the way they tell the story. Guilty pleasure.” She shifted on the couch, and patted the spot at the other end, “How about some warm milk and you watch with me?”

Confusion clouded his features but he just nodded as if he got the gist of what she meant. “Okay.”

She wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, but Hilly went to the kitchen and poured the rest of the milk for him into a large mug. Bucky was still standing by the couch, blending into the shadows. As she closed the distance between them, she saw his eyes were squeezed shut and he head a white-knuckled death grip on the back of the couch. 

“Hey, here you go.” She placed her hand on top of his lightly and squeezed, “I’ll go find something else for us to watch,” she said as she offered up the drink. 

He opened his eyes, too bright and vulnerable in the dim light, and took the mug from her, his fingers brushing hers again. She flushed, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks that it brought.

“The music… I know the voice but not the song. Nat King Cole?” has asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah. Late forties I think.”

He frowned, “That explains it.”

She thumbed through the selections again, her choice made harder by her viewing companion. Finally she settled on Good Will Hunting, just as Bucky finally settled himself in at the other end of the sofa. It certainly wasn’t a cheery movie, but there wasn’t torture although it mentioned abuse, and there was probably a good message in there for Bucky somewhere. Probably for her, too. She hoped she wasn’t making a misstep, pushing too much too soon, but that was just how she worked. And hey, Robin Williams. She was sad for a moment, just thinking about how he was gone.

Bucky took a cautious sip and hummed his approval, “Good,” he murmured.

“I may not cook, but I can heat up milk like nobody’s business.”

He shot her a sideways glance, but she didn’t win a smile for her joke. He was as solemn as she’d seen him, a far cry from the man she’d spent half the morning with. Then again, he hadn’t been out of cryo long at all, and it wasn’t really long enough to judge, but maybe he was in a different place mentally than she’d thought. She might have made a serious misstep. 

“So, you meant it when you said you don’t sleep much,” he said.

Hilly gave a short, humorless laugh, “Yes, I meant it.”

“This is what you do when you can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Yes. Keeps my mind off things, and warm milk is what my mother used to bring me when I couldn’t sleep as a child. Even if it doesn’t work, it still occupies my mind.”

He nodded and leaned back into his corner, toed off his shoes and hauled his long legs up onto the couch, content to try her patented insomnia method. She tossed the other end of her duvet at his feet. “I’ll share,” she offered. He placed his mug on the table next to him and took her up on it, enjoying the downy warmth it provided. 

Hilly turned her attention back to the screen, sneaking glances over at Bucky to watch his reactions to the film. At first, he seemed more confused than anything else, but before long she saw he was absorbed in the story. This was a good thing. Extreme avoidance wasn’t a philosophy she subscribed to, and she was glad to see Bucky wasn’t intent on staying inside a safe little bubble. 

Somewhere between Will breaking Skylar’s heart and Sean telling Will that it wasn’t his fault, she drifted off despite her efforts to keep her eyes open. She wanted to make it to that scene… it was her favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took a while to write this one. Real life got kind of crazy there for a little bit. I will say, it would have taken much longer if it weren’t for the encouragement your kudos and especially your comments provided. I knew I had to keep pushing because people were waiting for more. Thanks so much for that, and please let me know what you think of this chapter. It really does mean the world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tucks a sleepy Hilly into bed, they have their first session together, and there are some feelings bubbling up that Hilly was certainly not expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter! So the inspiration for this one comes from the song "The Messenger" www.youtube.com/watch?v=21YBpBWhXAo
> 
> And from this one: "Cardiff" by Stone Sour www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAheGCIQDyA
> 
> ... but we'll see more of that in the next chapters.

Bucky watched her sleeping long after the credits ran their course, finding that more restful than the film. All in all, he'd liked it. It was a good story at its heart, and he'd enjoyed the glimpses of Boston culture in it. He'd had a buddy from South Boston in the 107th that he used to play cards with. Apparently, some things had stayed the same, a Southie was still a Southie, and that was strangely comforting. A fond memory he'd been glad to have returned to him. Weren't many of those, unfortunately. Most of them were ones he'd rather be without, so he guarded the good ones close.

Where he wasn't exactly sleepy, his mind was in a calmer state. He might be able to catch a little shuteye if he tried. Hilly's insomnia cure worked for her. She lay limp and boneless, her head lolled against the back of the sofa. Her neck would ache if he left her as she was. He cursed his lack of an arm again. If he were whole… but he wasn't. She was a tiny thing, but he couldn't pick her up without waking her.

She almost looked like another person all curled up, her face soft, relaxed, younger somehow. She seemed so much bigger when she was awake, with her direct gaze and plain speech, facing him down when he challenged her. He knew he'd scared her; he'd seen it in her eyes, but she hadn't let it stop her. Hilly was a no bullshit type of dame, and he respected that, he did, but she was going to need more than a go-get 'em attitude to put humpty dumpty back together. How she and Steve believed it could happen was beyond him.

He closed his eyes and tried to push away the darkness trying to crowd back in. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Bucky extracted himself from the blanket, and pushed gently at Hilly's shoulder. She came awake with a start, eyes too wide and confusion clouding her features.

"Let's get you to your room," Bucky said, his voice pitched low.

She blinked, her nose scrunching up as she tried to get her thoughts untangled. She nodded finally, but made no move to get up. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and her blinks longer than they should be. She was about to go under again. He wondered how long it had been since she'd gotten a good night's rest if it was this hard to wake her.

"Hilly, come on," he gripped her forearm and started to pull her up.

She glared at him but stood unsteadily, swaying on her feet, her blanket cocooned around her. He sighed and slung his arm around her waist and started walking her towards her room. She let herself be led, and he tried to ignore the soft press of her warm body against his as much as he was able. Contact with others had been limited, and having her so close was almost painful he craved it so much. It was why he'd sunk down next to her on the sofa to begin with, accepting her offer. Why he hadn't pulled away when she'd stretched out in sleep, her legs brushing his. Aside from Steve or the impersonal touch of a lab technician or scientist, he couldn't remember the last time someone touched him in peace. He snorted, a sad state he was in if tucking his head shrinker into bed was enough to leave him all weepy.

He stopped outside her door, "Okay doc. You gotta open the door for me." She frowned up at him again, but complied. "That's it. Bed's this way."

Bucky led her to it, and Hilly tumbled in, pulling her blanket snug around her. He took a quick glance around, noting her piles of books, likely pillaged from the library, the half-empty amber liquor in a glass decanter, the stacks of files and pages of notes strewn across the desk. He was curious, but he didn't want to invade her privacy. He felt like he was intruding already.

"Okay, I'll lock this behind me. Night, Hilly."

"Mpfh," she answered. "Hate to see you go but I love watching you walk away…" she mumbled.

He stopped and turned back to her, "What?"

She was already snoring.

#####

Hilly was already making coffee in the common kitchen when Bucky made an appearance. She smiled at him and tried hard not to think about what he'd felt like pressed against her, how warm and solid. He'd just been helping her to bed. For his part, it didn't seem like her insomnia cure worked on him. The shadows under his eyes were as deep as ever. He was dressed for the day in jeans and a deep blue t-shirt, unlike her, still clad in track pants and a sleep t-shirt.

"Morning. How long have you been up?" she asked.

"Dawn."

Her eyes widened, "Not much sleep then?"

He shook his head, his eyes cast downwards.

"Did you eat yet?" She asked.

He had, but that was hours ago, and his metabolism burned through food at a much higher rate. His stomach growled audibly, answering for him.

Hilly grinned, "Okay then. Care to join me for breakfast? You really don't have to cook. There's some instant oatmeal in here. They've stocked it with some pretty easy stuff. Specially imported, just for the resident Americans. Even I can't screw it up."

"We're going to start today?" he asked, ignoring the offer of food.

She frowned and turned to face him, "Yes. Is that still okay?"

He sighed and shook his head, "I—Yes. Never mind."

She cocked a brow at him but let it go. If she didn't press now, it may come out of him easier later. It wasn't ideal to start her sessions with him when he'd had so little sleep, she'd guess three hours at best. It would be worse to wait. She could only hope that after what she worked with him on today, he might be able to sleep tonight.

She opened up the pantry door, intent on making herself a bowl of Quaker goodness. She was partial to the peaches and cream flavor, and bless the kind soul that had selected the fruit and cream variety pack. Blame it on her southern roots.

"I don't mind making breakfast. I need to do something useful anyway."

She shut the door and turned to face him. "Need help?"

He shook his head and began to rifle through the cabinets, pulling out a heavy skillet, then eggs and bacon from the fridge. Bacon came in little vacuum sealed packages most often these days, a "peel here" note in its corner. You could still get it wrapped in paper from the butcher counter, but this was some of the special foods their hosts had purchased for them to make them feel at home. It was mostly wasted on him, but he was sure Hilly appreciated it.

He stared at the innocent little words and slammed the package down on the counter, pulled one of the knives from the magnet on the wall, flipped it to reverse the grip, and pinned the package to the butcher block to hold it steady then snagged another to slash the package open. _Peel here._ Peel _this_.

Hilly's barstool screeched back as he opened the bacon. _Right_. Maybe a little overreacting there. He just shrugged one broad shoulder and continued, keeping his back solidly to her face. He didn't want to see what she must be thinking.

Hilly took a few gulps of her coffee and waited for her heart to slow back down. Bucky had scared the crap out of her. She probably wouldn't have opened the package quite so viciously, but then again, she had two hands to work with. The speed at which he'd managed the two knives was incredible. Even short his cybernetic arm, Bucky was a very dangerous man.

Bacon, a side of scrambled eggs and another pile of toast and jam later, and Bucky settled into a quiet calm in place of the quiet agitation she'd been met with this morning.

He hadn't spoken much, monosyllables and grunts in place of actual words. There went her hopes for him sharing what had him so worried on his own. They weren't there yet. Patience was the name of the game in therapy, and just because he'd willingly shared space with her last night didn't mean he trusted her enough to spill his guts just because she asked. Hilly spent two weeks watching security footage over and over, reading his file, reading his journals, and talking to Steve about the Bucky that he used to be.

Steve said Bucky hadn't been much of a sharer before his Winter Soldier days either. He never talked about what Zola had done to him when he was experimented on the first time, and he and Steve were like brothers. Yeah, she already felt close to him, but he didn't have the same connection to her. He'd just met her, and really, given his background, she shouldn't feel disappointed he didn't feel the same bond.

"Meet you in my office in an hour?" she asked.

Bucky just nodded, his face carefully blank.

#####

Precisely on time, Bucky arrived at her office. She waved him in and asked him to take a seat in the chair they'd wired up to read his vitals and scan his brain function as they worked. Hilly pressed a button on the intercom on the desk and asked the lab to come online. Jak was on the other end, acknowledging they were set. This first session, he'd tend to the details in person.

"You learn the word to shut me down?" he asked, his voice drawn and bleak.

"Yes."

She didn't think she'd need it, but they'd been over all that before. It got him in the door, and that was what mattered. There was time to address the rest of it. She invited him to sit, gesturing to the chair they had made for him. He looked at it like it may bite him, but walked to it, his posture stiff.

"Sit, please."

"Yeah," he answered, his voice barely audible.

He sat, although he had a death grip on the arm and a sheen of sweat stood out on his brow.

She pushed her chair over until she was right next to him and sat down. "You don't want to do this." she stated.

He humphed, "No, but it doesn't matter what I want."

"I'm afraid it does," she argued, her voice soft.

Bucky clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching in his cheek. She waited him out. She'd thought it had been too easy to get him to sit through sessions, and she'd been right. In abstract, it was something he could logically understand the need for, but when it came to planting his ass in the chair and getting to work, it wasn't so easy.

He sighed, breaking finally after a long tense minute of him staring her down. "It's what I have to do, but no bullshit, doc, it's not something I want to do."

She nodded, "Understandable. This does have to be your choice, though."

_My choice. It is. It's my choice._

"Let's get started," he said.

"First thing is teaching you to relax and get through the memories without lashing out or having a panic attack. That's all we'll focus on today. You'll need to practice them on your own, not just in here."

He sat back, bemused. "The triggers—"

"Will come in time, but this has to be first."

He frowned, "How much time?" He felt like a bomb walking around with the triggers in his head. The sooner they came out, the better. He couldn't ever get that out of his mind, and now he was going to have to wait even longer?

"That's really up to you, but not as long as you might think. Once you can ride out the memories without it shutting you down, we can move to the trigger words." He didn't give her a response, so she pushed on, "So, what have you been doing when you get a rough one?"

He shook his head, "Wait it out, mostly. Then I write it down." He looked down at his feet, "I'm not doing so great with them on my own," he admitted. The incident with Steve rose up in his mind. Okay, _not so great_ was probably an understatement. "You're saying when I get a flashback, I could just… deal with it? Not end up laying on the ground waitin' for someone to put a bullet in me while I'm lost in my head?"

"That's the idea."

He looked up, interest sparking, "Yeah, okay. That'd be good."

Hilly smiled, "We'll learn three techniques to help you relax. You'll have to figure out which ones work best for you when. I'm going to expect you to practice them daily, and the time to practice is not in the middle of a panic attack."

"I can do that." His lips lifted at the corner, a hint of humor returning at last.

"Put your hand here, on your chest," she reached out and laid her hand in the middle of his chest, a brief touch to show him where. He obeyed after a beat. "This hand shouldn't move. We're going to be taking deep belly breaths. In for a four count, hold for two count, out for four." She laid her hand on his abdomen, "Your breaths should move here." She swallowed hard as his breath caught at her touch, his eyes locking on hers with an intensity behind his gaze she wasn't expecting.

She tried to ignore the hard wall of muscle bunching beneath her fingers and the sudden urge to lift his shirt and touch his skin. What the hell was wrong with her? He was a client, and he didn't need this. She shook herself mentally, ignored the urge to snatch her hand away and acted as if the close proximity didn't affect her.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice steady despite her nerves.

Bucky just gave a sharp nod.

She walked him through a six breath cycle, his eyes watching her hand on his body, his breaths making it rise and fall just as she'd asked.

Hilly removed her hand from his abdomen and sat back in her chair. She explained how to use deep breathing when he started noticing anxiety creeping in on him. At the first sign, not when it had already spun out of control. She wanted him to do three five minute practice sessions a day, and they'd also start each session with it. Bucky listened intently, and she believed he would practice on his own, even without any prompting from her. The idea of eliminating a pretty significant vulnerability was important enough to him to make it worthwhile. Good. She'd take it, whatever reason.

"Technique number two?" he asked.

"Progressive Muscle Relaxation. Same idea as the breathing. It will help take the focus off the anxiety or whatever it is you're seeing, and place it on something you can control."

She walked him through the technique of tightening his muscles, one part of his body at a time, systematically and then relaxing, careful to keep her hands in her lap on this one even though she usually did use touch to tell if the muscle was isolated as it should be. In the breathing technique, she normally had her patients use their own hands, but Bucky didn't have that option so she jumped in. She'd jumped in and now she couldn't stop thinking about it.

It was bad enough watching him clench his bicep until it shook before letting the tension go. If she couldn't draw a line for herself here, she was going to have to tell them she couldn't continue on with Bucky, and she had the feeling that would be a bad thing for her continued safety. If anyone learned she'd been working with Bucky Barnes, it was only a matter of time till someone figured out she knew more than she'd let on. Maybe she'd get lucky and no one would connect the dots, but she'd be looking over her shoulder forever now that she knew the full scope of what she'd been involved in.

Truth be told, she couldn't imagine quitting on him, even if it was the right thing. She didn't think she could do it. Sometimes she didn't feel like a very good person.

She cleared her throat, "Fifteen minutes, twice a day."

"Okay. Got it."

"Last technique is grounding. You'll most likely want to use this if you are in a panic attack. The idea is to focus on details around you. Color, texture, name the presidents, neighborhoods, alphabet backwards, whatever captures your mind's focus. Touch what you're describing, if you can."

"Simple."

"It is. Keep your eyes open if you can, and if the person you're with can help guide you towards it, even better. Like the other things, practice. A couple of times a day. I'll give you an example."

She reached out and laid her hand on his right shoulder, "Your shirt is soft, cotton, navy blue. It's got little flecks of lighter blue running through the fabric. Your shoulder is warm, warmer than I expected, and," she squeezed a little, "hard. Muscular," she amended. She pulled her hand away, cleared her throat and looked up to meet his eyes, "You try."

Bucky could have chosen anything in the room, but he reached out for her hand. It surprised her, but she gave him a small smile, determined not to act in any way to discourage him, "Okay. Whenever you're ready."

"Your hand is… very soft, three freckles," he began, his voice pitched low. "You have long fingers, slim hands." He compared the size of hers to his own, "But they're so small. No calluses like mine," He traced a finger over her palm. "A burn scar on your wrist," he turned her hand over again, "Soft hands, but you have scars on your knuckles, and these little ones on the back of your hands?" He met her eyes, curiosity bright within the blue depths. "I wonder where you got these?"

Her heart beat wildly in her chest as he looked at her like that, his face soft, the Winter Soldier far away. This was pure Bucky, and if the warning bells in her head was any indication, she was in way over her head. "Uh, good." She pulled her hand back into her lap. "That's perfect."

His eyes started to shutter closed as she failed to answer his question. She couldn't stand to see him shut down, not now.

"My dad was a mechanic, a good one. I helped him since I was old enough to say the word 'wrench' and he taught me all he knew. My scholarship didn't cover all my expenses, so I put myself through college working in a garage," she rushed to answer. "The knuckle scars are an occupational hazard, and the burn is from an exhaust pipe. I only did that once."

Bucky grinned, and her heart nearly seized in her chest.

She was in _so_ much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was like blood from a stone, but I finally got it moving in the right direction. I hope y'all will think it was worth it. If so, please let me know. I got a whopping one comment from last chapter which leads me to believe the primary response from folks was a solid "meh." And thanks again for those that have left comments. It really does fuel my muse and make the many hours put into this worth it. Think of it as a tip for your entertainment. ;) Also, if you'd like to see it go in a particular direction or see a scene, let me know and I'll see if it works in the (loose) narrative I have laid out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The session continues, and we do some introspection... and discussion of cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well I thought the session was over, but turns out it wasn’t. Hope that’s okay. ;) Sorry this took a tiny bit longer than I intended. I like to keep updates to at least once a week, but I’ve caught a flu, and it’s hard to write when you’re falling asleep at the keyboard.

Hilly was so glad Jak wasn’t monitoring her vital signs in this session because wow, they might think she was in cardiac arrest. His hand was so warm and gentle on hers, his fingers lightly tracing the old scars on her knuckles. He dropped her hand finally and looked at her expectantly. The man’s eyes should be illegal. _Get a grip, Audhilde! Do your job!_

Hilly rolled her chair back to her desk and pressed the intercom, “Jak, we’re about to finish up here. You can go off-line.”

Bucky shifted in the chair, suddenly remembering that it was wired to detect his vital signs. He’d actually forgotten. It might have had something to do with Hilly being in such close proximity, her soft little hand in his, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body until she’d moved away. She looked at him in a way that made him feel completely human again, her expression soft around the edges. He knew she was just doing her job, and her job was to care about others. It wasn’t personal. How could it be? He didn’t understand how someone could read through his files, know what he’d done, and still look at him like that. Like he was anything other than a weapon. She did, though. It wasn’t personal, he told himself again. He couldn’t help wishing it wasn’t true.

“Thank you. Can I see Mr. Barnes this afternoon? About two?”

Hilly glanced over at Bucky and raised a brow. 

He shrugged, “I’ll see if I can free my schedule,” he murmured with a hint of a smirk.

Hilly bit her lip and suppressed a chuckle, “No problem. We’ll see you then.”

He’d made her smile. He liked making her smile, and it was getting easier to remember how to do that. He knew it had been something that the old Bucky had done well. He also liked that she was coming with him to this meeting with Dr. Jakande. Stupid, but he felt safer with her there. Like she would keep any of the doctors from doing something to him he didn’t want. 

“What do you think that’ll be about?” he asked.

She took a moment to consider. “If I had to guess, it could be either your readouts from today, from when you were in cryosleep.” 

He nodded, either of those topics he could deal with. He’d been curious about what made Wakandan science and medicine so special. The more he knew about what they were doing, the better he’d feel. He had a vague recollection of being good at science and math in school. He’d wanted to be an engineer. Build things, like Howard Stark. Howard, who had been his friend. Who he’d—No. _No._ That was a path he didn’t want to go down right now.

He dropped his eyes to his lap, hair bracketing his face, hiding his expression from her. 

“Or it could be about your new prosthetic arm.”

Bucky shuddered, fear shooting through him. What if it was about his arm? Could he take that? He wasn’t sure he could.  
Hilly frowned. He was okay talking about cryofreeze but not his arm?

“You think he’s gonna say they can’t do it?” 

_Ah. There it was._

“What if they can’t do it?” he asked, his voice so soft she had to strain to hear it.

“No. I think he would have let me know first if that were the case. And if they can’t, do you think Steve won’t find someone who can?”

Bucky scoffed, but he lifted his head.

She took a deep breath, “And Bucky, if he doesn’t, so what?”

She caught a glimpse of something painful before his expression shuttered closed. She had the feeling they might be revisiting this topic again, because he nodded and gave her a little smile, but she didn’t buy it. He currently was very much not okay with it. That was going in her notes.

She cleared her throat, “You should take some time to build a daily routine, and it is good for you to stick to it as much as possible, even simple things like reading or going to the café for lunch.”

Bucky had avoided routine while on the run. Routines meant patterns, and patterns were an easy way of throwing up red flags. Routines made him uneasy… which was maybe the point.

“Breakfast with Doc Hilly, for example?”

So he was going to turn that look on her just to deflect from the topic, was he? All bright eyes and cocky smirk, his sharp jaw tilted up, challenging her to turn him down, knowing she wouldn’t. He’d probably gotten a lot of mileage out of that particular look back in his day. Still worked on him, even with his days-old scruff and long hair. It kinda really worked. Ugh. Bad Hilly. Fine. But he wasn’t getting off that easy.

“And workouts with Steve. Maybe hang out with a few more people once you get used to them.”

His smirk faded. Yeah, she was pushing again. Bucky could easily close himself off from everyone but the bare minimum people he had to interact with, and she’d guess he wanted to. He didn’t trust himself. She did trust him, and she damn sure wasn’t going to let him hole up in his room all day every day. She lifted her chin and dared him to argue.

“So do you need me to go over anything again?” she asked, dismissing the session. 

He gave her an appraising look before he stood up and stretched, “Nah. I think I’ve got it.”

She stood up too, “If you need anything before this afternoon, call me. We can meet up in the kitchen about five before two for your meeting with Dr. Jakande.”

“Sure. See you then.” He turned to go with a lift of his hand.

“Oh! One more thing!”

He paused and half turned to face her.

“Are you okay with cats?”

Bucky’s forehead creased, “What?”

“Well the Wakandans worship Bast, the cat deity, and so they have quite a lot of cats around the compound. They’re good for reducing anxiety, and well, I like them.” She flushed, warmth filling her cheeks. “So if it’s okay with you, I’d like them to be allowed to come into the living areas.”

Bucky registered her discomfort and the pink in her cheeks and gave her a crooked grin, “Good for reducing anxiety, huh?”

She just smiled, her expression hopeful.

“Fine by me. I like cats. My sisters…” he frowned for a moment and then gave a soft smile, “Yeah. My sisters loved them. I remember that. We had two, and they fought over who they belonged to. I told them cats belong to themselves, they just share with you. Truth was, the cats loved all three of them, but Juliet slept in my bed every night, and Romeo loved Becca.”

She blinked to clear the moisture from her eyes. He’d looked so happy there for a moment.

“Thanks.” 

He nodded and turned to leave again.

She definitely had Bucky’s approval. Now to get Steve on board which was easy enough when you knew which cards to play. She’d feel guilty about it if she wasn’t convinced it would do both her and Bucky good. 

“Steve is always in the gym this time of day,” she offered, as he walked out the door.

One last little push couldn’t hurt.

$$$

Spending time with Steve was a little weird. Bucky had recovered much of his pre-Hydra memories, but they were fuzzy and tinted with a veneer of nostalgia which made them feel not quite real. It was unnerving to look at Steve and feel the bond between them, but to have so little frame of reference for it. His instinct was to look out for him, watch his back, and that need was clearly strong. So much that before he even remembered for himself that he was Bucky Barnes, he knew he had to pull Steve from the Potomac. Had to. And he hadn’t been lying when he told Steve he didn’t know why. He hadn’t known why, just that he had to. The fear that seized him before he’d seen Steve draw in breath on the riverbank was why. He’d thought he was dead, and something akin to pure terror filled him at what he could have done. If he’d killed Steve that day, there would have been no coming back for him.

Steve was a part of who he’d been before, a part he desperately wanted to hold on to, but every time he tried it slipped through his fingers. 

Bucky wasn’t the same, and Steve wanted him to be the same so badly it was painful for them both. Steve was like his brother, but like real family, he let that blind him to the truth. Steve seemed to think if the triggers were gone, he’d go back to being the same guy he was. Bucky knew that was never going to happen. He’d seen… done… too much. Steve acted like he was blameless, but he wasn’t. Not really. He just hadn’t been in charge of picking the targets.

The thing was, spending time with Steve did make him feel more like himself than anything else. He remembered things, remembered being that person. It was just the thought of spending time with him every day was gave him the same feeling he got when he glimpsed himself in the mirror. It looked like him, but it wasn’t, and if you looked at the reflection for more than a second, all you saw was scars. All the parts of him that had healed up twisted and ugly. He didn’t want Steve to see that, and if he spent much time around him, he would.

He’d seen the hurt on Steve’s face when he avoided him, didn’t take him up on his offer of dinner, didn’t seek him out but instead locked himself in his room. Steve didn’t realize how much worse it would hurt if he didn’t. 

Bucky sighed and went to change into workout gear. He could give him this much, at least.

$$$

Steve smiled when he saw him come in. “Hey Buck,” he said, “was just about to go for a run. Coming along?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Hilly was right. He had to start somewhere.

Steve started talking once they settled into a comfortable pace, and this time Bucky didn’t stop him. He didn’t contribute much, but it was nice just letting him carry the conversation. He went on about how he busted his friends out of the floating prison, which was probably meant to reassure Bucky. It did. He didn’t like the idea of Steve’s team giving themselves up for him, but at the time he thought stopping Zemo was more important. He was glad they weren’t locked up because of him. 

Bucky mentioned how different the world was from when they left it, and that was enough to get Steve off and running on another topic. Steve confessed that since technology had advanced so far and he hadn’t been around to watch it evolve, it usually made him feel stupid. Now Bucky’s brain may not be what it was, but he knew for a fact Steve was far from stupid, and he said as much. It was worth it for Steve’s shy smile and nod of acceptance. He got a strong impression that he’d done that for Steve when they were kids, reassure him when the world seemed like all it could do was pile more hurt on this little guy that just never stopped fighting. He wasn’t so little anymore, but Bucky knew Steve was still _Steve._

Mostly Bucky liked hearing about his friends. He liked knowing that Steve had people looking out for him, although it seemed to him that Steve was the one doing a lot of the looking out. 

The Wanda girl was still a kid, really, even though what he’d seen of here abilities was impressive. The guy that turned tiny and giant had been useful, but completely star stuck by Steve, and both the guy with the bow and Sam were just highly trained regular men. The Widow, now she was something else. She was fully capable of taking care of herself and Steve too. He spoke about her with a warmth that told Bucky she was a true friend, and Bucky was glad of that. The Widow would make a terrifying enemy. He wondered if Steve would still feel the same about him if he knew Bucky had shot her not once, but twice. Then again, he’d watched him shoot her the second time. Something else he remembered… Steve was an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Pretty introspective this time, but that’s just where the story went. I hope you liked it! I’m hoping you’ll tell me if you did (or didn’t) and bonus points for why. ;) Again, if there’s something you like or want to see more of, just let me know. A lot of times that’s a jumping off point for me that helps me figure where the story is going next. As always, thanks to the lovely folks encouraging me! The couple of minutes you take to let me know you like this makes it all worthwhile. *hugs*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic attacks, quick and dirty therapy, science and stress, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been rough for me to get written, but it's a longer chapter. I hope it proves worth the wait.

Bucky had to get out. Now. Taking Steve up on his offer of lunch sounded like a good idea when he offered it, but he'd made a mistake. Their run was good, he'd had a good morning free from anxiety attacks this time, and when Steve suggested they stop by the café for some food, he agreed enthusiastically. He was hungry, they'd eat. Easy. Except it wasn't.

Now that they were sitting there in the cafe, he just wanted to be gone. There were people behind him, and that was a problem. People on each side, and the exit wasn't in sight. The walls were too close, the lights were too bright, and Steve's voice too loud. He tried the thing with the breathing, but Steve was asking him if he was all right, and no. No, no he wasn't and he couldn't count his breaths when Steve wouldn't stop.

He pushed back out of his chair and bolted. If he didn't get out of there he was going to lose it. What if he lost it with all those people around? He could hurt someone. Goodbye sanctuary, for him and for Steve, and Steve wasn't as good at hiding.

He jogged down the hall, swiped through security as quickly as he could, and shut himself inside his room. His breathing quickened, coming in hard pants. His heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. _Damn it, damn it, damn it._ He sank to the floor, folding in on himself, covering his head with his arm. _Not again. Not again._

Steve pounded on his door, "Bucky! Let me in. Bucky?"

"Go the fuck away!" Bucky grated out.

He pounded on the door again, but it broke off abruptly. A low voice outside the door. Steve's was raised, angry… then his footfalls as he walked away.

Another knock, softer. "Bucky? I'm coming in," Hilly said.

Bucky ignored her, focused on trying very hard not to throw up. His hair stuck to his face, sweat dripping into his eyes. He thought he just might be dying, and he would know. He'd done it before. _Oh, god. My chest hurts._ He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ride it out.

Hilly swiped her card against his door lock and entered, flicking the lock to open in case she needed a quick rescue. She knelt down next to him and sighed. He was in the middle of a full blown attack. He said they rarely happened anymore, but here in this setting, he was under considerably more stress. He'd beat himself up about this one, she was sure. Not his fault, none of it was, but it was her job to make him see that, because he sure didn't see it now. His breathing was what was really concerning her right now. He was hyperventilating, and he was never going to get through this one if he couldn't slow down his breathing.

"Bucky, I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that?"

His body was shaking so hard, he was into this one deep. She wasn't sure he heard her. She knew better than to touch him. Yes, he was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, and her heart wanted to wrap herself around him and make him feel safe, but that was a monumentally bad idea. Number one, psychiatrists weren't allowed to hug clients. Big, big, no go, even for her. Number two, it would be a good way to get her neck snapped. Bucky could kill her in the space of one blink, and despite what he might believe, she never forgot that.

After a moment she saw him give a nod. Good. She let out the breath she didn't even realize she was holding.

"Okay. Good. In with me… hold… out on my count, two, three, four."

He was doing it. Shaky, but he was following her through the cycle, and his tremors had diminished. On the fourth repetition, he reached out and gripped her hand. She stared down at his hand, holding on to hers like it was his lifeline.

"You're okay, Bucky. You're safe."

He pressed her hand to his chest, palm down, right over his furiously beating heart. His eyes cracked open, brilliant blue and terrified.

"I know," she said gently. "It feels like you're having a heart attack right?"

He nodded.

"You're not. I promise. Can you speak to me right now?"

He licked his lips, squeezed his eyes shut again briefly. "Yeah. Can now."

"Can you describe something you feel or see for me?"

Bucky drew in a shaky breath, "Okay. Yeah." He flexed his hand over hers where it still lay over his heart. "Your hand is soft, long fingers. You keep your fingernails short." He brought her wrist to his nose, his lips brushing across the delicate skin as he inhaled, "And you smell of soap, jasmine, and… something I can barely catch… it's bourbon?"

"You can take the girl out of Kentucky, but not the Kentucky out of the girl," she said in answer. He smelled that on her from last night, even after a shower?

He circled his fingers around her wrist, "Your wrist is tiny, and your fingers are so small." _Clench his fist, and the tiny bones would break._ His eyes locked on hers, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… " He started to disengage. "I'll hurt you."

"No," she stopped him, capturing his hand in hers. "You won't."

The attack receded. He was coming back to himself again, and how he wished he wasn't. Heat rushed into his face. How was he going to face her? How could he face Steve after he ran out on him like that? What the hell was wrong with him that he could deal with a firefight, but a meal with his friend was enough to send him running away, a quivering mess? He let go of her hand and pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"I don't know why this happened," he muttered.

"You've been awaken out of cryosleep very recently, your oldest friend and constant reminder of who you used to be lives across the hall from you, and some asshole has forced you to talk to a psychiatrist every day, and oh yeah, anti-anxiety meds don't work on you because you're a super soldier."

Bucky shook his head, "I was doing better than this. Before."

Hilly cocked a brow, "Yeah, I'm sure you were when you isolated yourself from meaningful social contact and anything familiar."

Bucky chewed on his lip, "Noted."

"Hey, this is going to happen. It's supposed to happen." If a little later in the process, she thought to herself. "There's a reason why we worked on these tools, okay? I'm going to teach Steve how to use them too so he can help you."

He sighed, shaking his head.

"One day at a time, right?" Hilly offered.

Bucky rested his face in his hand, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Hey. Stop that. I'm positive you can. So is Steve. So is T'Challa."

Bucky gave a long groan, "Steve. I just ran out on him in there. How am I gonna—"

"Steve understands," Steve cut off, pushing the door open. "I brought you some lunch." He placed the container of food on Bucky's desk and sat down in the adjacent chair.

"Thanks." Bucky got up from the floor, feeling self-conscious of his position. He offered his hand to Hilly to help her up. He gestured for her to take the overstuffed upholstered chair while he took a seat at the foot of his bed.

Steve looked at his friend and shook his head, "You gotta let me help you, Buck. I know you'd do the same for me so stop being so stubborn about it. You think I don't know this is hard for you?"

Bucky just stared down at his feet. He couldn't understand. No one could.

Steve cleared his throat, glanced over at Hilly and gave a sigh of his own. "Wanda messed with my mind. She was fighting on the other side, and she took us all out, one by one, by getting in our heads. She did a number on mine. She made me see things, like I was there. It was a vision, a dream, but it felt _real._ Still does."

He cut his eyes towards Hilly, shifting in his seat. She got the feeling he wasn't overly fond of sharing. He had that in common with his friend.

"I was in a dance hall, and it felt like a war zone." He gave a short huff of laughter, "Someone spilled their wine and I thought it was blood. Heard gunshots when the champagne popped, gunfire for the cameras, you name it… and that wasn't even the worst part of it." He swallowed hard, deciding to keep that part to himself. He couldn't talk about it. Not yet. "If that's just a little bit like what you go through, pal, then believe me, I know it's hard."

Bucky looked between the two of them, stunned by their unwavering belief in him. Unexpected emotion rose in his throat, choking him. He didn't feel like he deserved this level of conviction, but obviously neither one of them agreed with him.

######

A rough morning followed by a meal and a hot shower, and he almost felt ready to face Dr. Jakande. Hilly would be with him, and that made it better. He hoped the doc would be able to tell him why he was feeling like he was losing his mind. It was like all the shit he'd waded through the first few months after he'd escaped Hydra had come roaring back. This place was supposed to help him get better, not make things worse.

He met Hilly in the hallway when he heard the door to her room open, falling into step with her in silence as she let him to the lab where they were to meet Dr. Jakande. She smiled at him in reassurance, but it didn't help much. The closer they got to the lab, the more his stomach lurched and roiled. By the time they arrived, he thought he might lose his lunch. Hilly gave his shoulder a squeeze and entered, smiling broadly at the doc. They were old friends, he remembered, trying to lose his frown. He tried not to feel jealous. She didn't belong to him and he had no right to feel possessive about anyone.

He and Hilly sat down across from Dr. Jakande, the two of them exchanging the typical social niceties. Bucky tuned out their conversation as he waited for what was likely to be bad news. It was always bad news, wasn't it?

"Your brain scans are remarkable," Dr. Jakande said.

Bucky looked up, embarrassed that he'd been lost in his own head while they'd started discussing his situation.

"Yeah? How?"

"You have these areas of significant damage," he pointed to the areas lit up in red and orange, "but they are healing. Your serum advances your healing rate somewhat, so that it to be expected, but some areas are healing at a truly remarkable rate. Specifically here," he gestured to the area on the front left portion of Bucky's brain, "and smaller areas here and here," as he gestured to the other side. "When you first came to us, this was the area where you'd recently suffered a concussion. My theory is that the new damage disrupted the, for lack of a better term, 'scarring.' When your cells are allowed to heal without the effects of multiple mental implantations, they revert to their primal form."

Bucky looked back and forth between Dr. Jakande and Hilly, "So that's a good thing, right?"

"Ultimately, yes. It means a quicker recovery, but there can be some negative effects from the speed at which you are healing. Brains heal slowly for good reason. Sometimes we need time."

Bucky's forehead creased, "Negative, how?"

"You might get strong flashbacks, nightmares, memories, some anxiety." He focused on Hilly, "PTSD arousal symptoms, primarily."

Bucky grimaced, "Worse than now, or at the current rate?"

Dr. Jakande frowned, "Are you experiencing an increase in symptoms since the concussion?"

Nightmare after nightmare, so bad he couldn't sleep. Anxiety, panic attacks… yes. A strong yes. "You could say that," he answered. It was a large part of the reason why he'd asked to be frozen again. That and the part where he turned into a killing machine against his will.

Dr. Jakande scribbled a note on the pad in front of him. "Depending on how quickly your pathways rebuild, it could get worse. Any memories you have suppressed due to trauma are likely to bubble up, at least in our experience. "

Bucky gnawed on the edge of his bottom lip, but he nodded. "Okay, but it'll go away? When everything in there is healed?"

Dr. Jakande looked to Hilly, "This is closer to your area of expertise." He looked between the two of them, silently asking if Hilly wanted him to leave. She tilted her head towards the door.

"If you need anything else, have any questions, please stop into my office any time," Jak said as he got up to leave.

"Thanks Jak. We'll be fine."

Hilly gave Bucky a strained smile. She could read the tension in his shoulders; he was playing it off pretty well, but he was troubled.

"Bucky, think of it this way. Your symptoms are a result of your trauma, and we will deal with how you can manage them through our sessions. Your healing factor is going to turn up the volume on those symptoms while it is actively working to heal these areas. When they're healed, the volume should turn back down, but it won't turn off. And there's two parts to this. The physical, and the mental. They effect each other, but fixing one doesn't automatically fix the other."

He nodded thoughtfully, "Right." He narrowed his eyes, "But that's not all, is it?"

Hilly swallowed hard. "No. Our former patients didn't have the benefit of your healing factor, but the uptake in symptoms usually indicated that they were getting close to absorbing their other persona. Normally it was because we started getting into those memories in our sessions. In your case, it might be that your particular physiology has a similar effect. To be honest, we can't be entirely sure. You have some significant differences from the people we treated."

Bucky's lips flattened into a thin line. He didn't just dislike what he was hearing, he was getting well and truly pissed off. Hilly knew he wouldn't hurt anyone just because he was angry, but that wasn't what made her so nervous. They were building a fragile trust between them, and right now it was in danger of breaking down. Might as well rip off the band-aid and get it all out there at once, then. She'd promised him the truth, painful as it might be.

"Your brain is healing, forcing the memories to the surface, much like if we brought them out in therapy, but without the benefit of the filter that therapy provides. When I take a patient through those memories, where the other persona still resides, I can do it from a sort of distance, as if they are an observer or watching a movie. It's less traumatic that way. Remembering is key to recovering that fractured portion of the personality. We do it slowly, but it's difficult even in the best circumstances." She drew in a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye, "I said I wouldn't lie to you. It was where we usually lost them."

Bucky laughed, dark and angry. "You lost them, and I'm going to go through what they did, but worse."

"No, you're different. You can do this. You have done this, you just don't remember."

Bucky stilled, "What do you mean?"

"It's in your file. Hydra had to freeze you in between missions and implant you when they woke you each time because you would throw off their programming if you were out for too long."

"Just because I know who I am doesn't mean I'm free. Nine words, and Zimo had me. Nine."

"That's not what I mean. The trigger words are just part of what was done to you. We can break that hold. I have broken it in others. It's the other part that caused the failures. You're different Bucky. You never..." she lifted her chin, determined to give him the whole truth, "You never had an alternate persona, even though Hydra tried. I reviewed your file, everything in it. I watched the surveillance footage, the training footage, everything. They twisted your perceptions, forced your compliance with pain, sensory deprivation, and with the trigger words and took away your choices, but it was _you._ You never became another person. It took twenty years, but they figured out a way around your resistance; they just kept you wiped and implanted your psyche with lies. They controlled you with trigger words and by keeping you from remembering who you are."

Bucky's face drained of its color. "I am not _him,_ " he retorted. He clenched his fist so tight the knuckles turned white. That couldn't be true, could it? He was afraid it was. The killer was him, and always had been. They hadn't created the Winter Soldier, he'd been inside of him all along.

Hilly laid her hand on his hand, stroking the knuckles until he unclenched his fist, "That's not what I'm saying. The Winter Soldier was you, but twisted to Hydra's purpose. They took that fierce loyalty that's part of you, and made you believe it was loyalty you owed to Hydra. You were doing what was right, what was just, by following orders, by executing the mission. It was you, but acting on false knowledge. They stole your frame of reference, replaced it with their own. Believe me, you fought it. Even without knowing who you were, you kept fighting to remember, rebelling in small ways. As soon as you started asking questions, speaking English without being told to, they knew they had to wipe you again. It happened every time, Bucky. You did all you could. More than anyone else could have."

Bucky's brow furrowed, "I remember that asking questions was bad. Pain, and the chair." He shuddered at the sensory memory, unable suppress it.

"And now you have yourself back. You have your memories they stole, and control of your mind once we break the triggers. The others we tried to help as part of The Project didn't have that. Their minds were broken. That's why you can do this, even though they couldn't."

Bucky scrubbed his face with his hand, "I don't know what that means."

"You were never broken, instead you were lied to, manipulated, and used. And when I said it was still you, lets be clear, I don't mean it was your fault. None of it was. You should never carry guilt for what you were forced to do. It wasn't your choice."

He shook his head, "I did it. I did it for years. I remember how it feels to take a kill shot. The satisfaction of a clean kill. Tell me how I'm gonna not feel like that's on me. Tell me how I'm gonna get through that." He looked down at his feet again, unwilling to face her forgiveness. "The things I see when I close my eyes—"

"Your mind is incredibly strong. You're a survivor. If anyone can do this, you can."

Bucky sighed. Easy to say when you weren't the one living through it.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer than I like, and I'm sorry for that. I'll be honest, I had the flu and then I also go so little feedback from the last chapter I couldn't even make myself sit and write for a week and a half. I kept telling myself it was pointless and I was thinking maybe I'd just forgotten how to write anything good anymore. So yeah, I was in a bit of a pity party. I published and got so excited wondering what people would think… silence. Anyway, I always finish what I start. I hope you like it. If you'd like to help my muse work faster, please tell her if you liked it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where thinks have progressed, and things progress…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter. Huge! It's all thanks to you, my lovely readers. :) *hugs* *kisses* *warm thoughts* ;)

Bucky was having a tough time dealing with the increase of symptoms, but he was doing his best to fake what passed for his “normal.” He was pretty sure Hilly noticed he was acting off kilter, but he hoped she didn’t. They had breakfast together every morning, usually a second breakfast for him, but she wasn’t much of a talker first thing, and they usually ate in relative silence. Hilly really didn’t like mornings. Sessions were easier because she still took the lead, and all he had to do was follow. It was exhausting keeping up the illusion that he was keeping it together, but sessions were short enough for him to make it through.

Being around Steve was easier. Usually they ran and followed that with lunch, and Steve had even found them an open private courtyard where they could eat without a press of people around. Steve disappeared afternoons, some evenings, and usually came back beat, dirty, and bloody. Steve didn’t offer an explanation, and he didn’t ask. Seemed the least he could do since Steve had laid off on all the questions, even when Bucky shut himself in his room for hours. Steve was worried about him, and he knew it, but he wasn’t pressing.

The nightmares, the panic attacks, all of it had gotten worse, just like Dr. Jakande said. It was bad enough that Hilly was still working with him on all the “relaxation tools”, and they were only dealing with the easier memories, ones he’d mostly managed to handle on his own. "Baby steps," she'd said. With all of it coming at him at once, he lost what little hard won peace he’d found since coming to Wakanda. The weight of all he'd done was more than he could stand most nights, and he was convinced he’d never dig his way out. He didn't have time for baby steps, but it was all he could face without losing it. Yeah, knowing Hilly, she was likely on to him, but she hadn’t pried too deep. Yet. She would, though. He’d learned that much about her. 

Hilly was just another egg in his crazy basket full of them. He was stuck on her, and it wasn’t his best move, considering his particular circumstances. His feelings were complicated. He needed to be near her as badly as he needed to push her away. This beautiful, kind-hearted woman offered him acceptance, and even friendship, and taking advantage of that was wrong. She was one of the few people on earth that wanted to help him, and he was so damn scared he was going to hurt her. He figured if he stayed away it would be better for them both. The last two nights he skipped her “insomnia cure” film nights, and rather than see her disappointed again the next morning for ducking her, he’d skipped breakfast. Stupid move, considering he was hungry and he still had to face her for their session.

He paced outside her office, nerves strung tight. He was early to their session, but he was going out of his mind sitting in his room alone thinking. He stilled as she approached, her face a mask of polite civility. His stomach dropped. He should have just made her breakfast and pretended he was okay. He wasn't okay. Faking it much longer wasn’t an option. This was a lose/lose situation.

“Hey, Bucky. You’re early.”

“Yeah.” _Stupid. That’s the best I can do? Real smooth._

“Go on in.”

He took a seat before he could start pacing again, uneasy with the bland expression on Hilly's face. Was she angry with him? Maybe she wasn't, and it was all in his head. Maybe she hadn't even noticed. He was so messed up right now, he didn't trust his judgement.

Hilly cocked a brow at him, "What's going on with you lately? Steve said you hadn’t said two words to him in the last few days." 

Scratch that. He wasn’t off the hook with her after all. She noticed. He shrugged, unsure of how to put it into words. She waited him out, just sitting there looking at him, calm and collected. He shifted in the chair, picked at a loose thread on his shirt hoping she was going to drop it. She wasn’t asking about him skipping out on her, so that was good, right?

“The truth, please.”

_Apparently not._ Bucky swallowed hard and nodded, “I’ll try,” he offered.

“I got back everything from before, you know? After I got this knock in the head,” he began, tapping his forehead. “All my memories of growing up, my sisters, Steve, the war, the Howlies, it’s back, but the stuff from when I was the Soldier, it’s always been hazy. It was in there but, the memories didn’t feel like they were mine. Thing is, now that my brain is healing, it’s not so hazy anymore. What I see, it’s clear, as in Technicolor clear, and I remember everything. How I felt, the smells, everything. And the bad dreams and the flashbacks are just—“ he shook his head, “just hard to deal with right now. I need some space to get my head right. I’m not safe to be around right now.”

Hilly frowned, “Isolating yourself isn’t helping that. We talked about this.”

He dropped his head to rest in his hand, “No. I can’t do that right now.”

“Yes, you can. We’re here to help. Lean on me, lean on Steve. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I _can’t,_ ” he gritted out.

“Bucky—“

He pushed out of the chair, started pacing the floor. He clenched his jaw, tried to rein in the helpless rage. 

Hilly watched him carefully as he stalked the length of the room, her eyes too wide and startled. Damn it, he’d scared her. Maybe she should be scared. Whatever it took to make her keep her distance.

She stood, her movements careful and slow as she approached, getting into his space. “You can do this,” she argued, her voice gentle.

He didn’t deserve gentle. He looked down at his hand, saw it coated in blood. Her blood. It was just a matter of time. He had to make her understand.

“Hilly, it’s crushing me.” He slapped his hand against his chest, “I can’t hardly breathe. What I’ve done, all those years. I killed innocent people, good people. I can’t look at all those faces every night.” His voice rising, tinged with hysteria. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing them, I can’t look in a mirror without seeing my face splattered with blood. Tell me again how I can do this!” he shouted.

Hilly flinched and took a step back.

_Oh, god._ What had he done? His heightened senses took in her quickened breath, her rapidly beating pulse. He didn’t mean it. Didn’t want to scare her, not ever.

Tears filled his eyes; he blinked quickly to try to clear them, turned his back to her.

Hilly stood stock still, afraid to move. This was too much like before, when her client snapped, too much trauma for his psyche to ever heal. Security had to put him down right in front of her… put him down? Now she was thinking like they did. Security murdered him because he was broken, and because she couldn’t fix him. She squeezed her eyes shut, the painful memory roaring back. 

Bucky stood with his back to her, quiet now though his body trembled. Was it the quiet of an emotion run its course or that of a psychotic break? No. No, this was Bucky. He wasn’t going to hurt her, not by his choice. Steeling herself, she moved closer.

He turned to face her, face filled with shame and pain as if he was begging her for absolution. Unshed tears stood in his eyes, threatening to spill over. _Oh, poor man. Her poor Bucky._

“I didn’t mean—“ he began, his hand reaching for her.

Her heart ached for him; he was lost in a sea of misery and he was drowning. She started to step forward, to wrap her arms around him and hold him. _No. I can’t do that. You can’t hug clients. No, it’s wrong._ She froze, then shifted back, putting space between them.

Bucky’s tightly held composure shattered as she recoiled. She didn’t want to touch him. He couldn’t blame her. He dashed his hand across his eyes and fled before he made things worse.

Hilly stood stunned staring after him as left her there. What just happened? 

He asked for space, she’d give him some, but tomorrow they were going to finish this conversation.

 

##########

Bucky woke screaming, the taste of rubber from the bite guard still on his tongue, cold sweat sticking his thin T-shirt to his torso and leaving him shivering. He passed a shaking hand over his face and tried to clear his mind. Of all the things to fixate on, his mind seem determined to relive the chair every time he dreamed. He heaved a deep sigh and pulled the sodden shirt off over his head, closed his eyes and began the breathing exercises Hilly taught him to try to slow the rapid beat of his pulse.

He flinched at the knock on the door, adrenaline still coursing through his body.

“Yeah?” he called out, his voice hoarse. 

“It’s Hilly. Can I come in?”

Of course it was Hilly. She always seemed to see him at his absolute worst. He supposed that was because she was the one helping him get over his… whatever it was. She’d call it trauma, but he’d just call it hell. Hydra would call it weakness and weakness meant punishment. As bad as it was now, it was better than _that._ The only blows he’d be getting were the ones to his ego, but hell, she couldn’t think less of him than she already did, right? Might as well let her in, because she’d just come in anyway.

He pushed himself of the bed and opened the door.

She stood in stocking feet outside his doorway, clad in a pair of short grey shorts and a black shirt with something printed on it that he couldn’t read because it was obscured by a rather large black cat. Her wide green eyes traveled down the length of his torso, her jaw dropped as she took him in before she shut her mouth with a snap and focused on his face, a pink tinge filling her cheeks. 

Bucky shook off his confusion at her reaction. He was being rude. “M’ sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked, stepping back and holding the door open for her to enter. 

“No. I was still up. Would have though. Do you mind if Zuri comes in too?” she asked, nodding towards the cat.

“I like cats,” he reminded her.

Her answering grin made his heart clench painfully in his chest. Oh yeah, he’d invite in a litter of kittens if he got that smile from her. She had the most adorable dimple in her right cheek when she smiled like that. The things he’d be willing to do to see her smile like that at him. She took a seat in the desk chair next to the bed, and the cat settled right in her lap, seemingly unconcerned that the door was now shut. The silver sparkly words on her shirt read _Nap Team Captain_. Cute.

He looked down, hiding the expression on his face. He was chasing fairytales, a dame like her wasting her time on him. She’d never want a guy like him. She couldn’t even stand to touch him today. He was half of a man at best, both literally and figuratively.

“Rough one?” she asked.

He nodded, still looking at the floor between his feet. “The chair,” he offered before she had the chance to ask. “The wipe, the programming. I dream of that most.”

Hilly shifted in her seat, leaning back and surreptitiously pushing Zuri off her lap. The cat was a magnet for warmth. She’d bet good money that she’d head right for Bucky.

“What do you remember?” Hilly asked.

He was quiet for so long she thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. She was pushing, but so far he’d been reluctant to progress from relaxation practices into discussion of his trauma, and it was beyond time for him to move past that. The nightmares happened every night, the panic attacks a couple times a day, and he was avoiding Steve like the plague. Her too, aside from their sessions. She didn’t understand it. She thought they were building a good relationship between them, but something had him spooked.

She couldn’t help letting her eyes wander over his body. She seldom saw him with so little clothing. Bucky preferred layers. She preferred him half naked. _Oh, god. He really was half naked._ Heat filled her cheeks as she realized he was clad in a pair of navy blue boxers and nothing else. Bucky didn’t seem to notice. She tried not to. Now wasn’t the time. But, _damn._ That body…

“Pain.”

One word was all it took, and she wasn’t thinking about his body any longer. 

“I remember fear, and pain. The taste of the rubber mouth guard so I didn’t break any teeth when I screamed, the smell of electricity, the white light and confusion.”

Zuri jumped up on the bed and pressed her lithe little body up against Bucky’s thigh, sensing his distress. Bucky began to absentmindedly stroke her. Zuri squeezed her eyes shut and purred, loud as a V-8. He smiled, scratching her behind her ears as she blinked lovingly up at him. Hilly couldn’t help the smile playing on her lips. She knew they’d be a good match. Zuri loved anything that moved, and adored anyone who paid her attention. Of the lab cats, she was the most calm and friendly, and as Hilly had it figured, the best match for Bucky.

“Bucky, you’re never going to have to go through that again.”

He nodded, “Yeah. I keep trying to believe that.”

“Hey, tell me something and I need an answer. The whole answer. Why’ve you been avoiding me?”

He swallowed hard and looked up at her, his vivid blue eyes wide and startled. “I’m not—“

“You are. Steve too, but mostly me.”

He shook his head and looked to the floor again, “I don’t know.”

She leaned forward and gripped his knee, “Bullshit. We tell each other the truth. Remember?”

He clenched his jaw, “I know I’m doing it, but I don’t know why.”

She frowned, unsatisfied with his response. She thought he understood that isolating himself wasn’t doing him any good, but after today, she wasn’t so sure.

He looked up to meet her eyes, pain, fear, and longing shining through. Her heart raced at the pure intensity of it, and she was suddenly and very painfully confronted with just how close they were to each other. Her hand was still on his knee, his face so close if he just leaned in a little more she’d could feel his lips on hers. Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, his lips slightly parted. So close, she could feel the heat from his skin.

Bucky’s body went sniper still. He never thought anyone could look at him like that again. Did he misread her after all? Did she… want him? _Him?_ Knowing all he’d done, all the blood on his hands, how truly fucked up his head was? Hope flared, hot and bright and warm, then died as he realized it didn’t matter. It wasn’t something meant for a man like him.

A pained noise escaped him as he slammed his eyes shut and leaned away from her. He grabbed her hand, intent on disengaging from her, but he couldn’t make himself let her go. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to hold her, but if he did, he’d destroy her. He couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror. How was he supposed to be a normal person again with friends and lovers and a remarkable woman like her in his life? That died with him in 1944. Died in the snow, deep in a ravine.

“I can’t be around people. I don’t deserve to be around people,” he amended. He tried to let go of her hand. He really tried.

And just like that, he blew away the last fragile threads of her resistance. Right or not, she wanted this man to be made whole again, no matter what it took, no matter how they got there, and no matter the personal cost. He deserved it, and he needed to see that. He needed love, he needed touch. He needed someone to hold him and tell him he was a good man.

Hilly leaned forward, pulling him towards her, and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. He held himself ramrod stiff against it, but didn’t pull away.

“Bucky, you’re an amazing man. You didn’t deserve what was done to you. You deserve a life. You just need to be brave enough to take it back. Please let me help you take it back?”

Like a dam bursting, he surrendered and cleaved to her, his arm pulling her so tightly to him she was almost sitting in his lap. He tucked his head into her neck and breathed her in. “I’m a monster, and I’m even more of a monster because right now I don’t care.”

“Shhh, Bucky. It’s all right.” She stroked his hair and held him close. 

How long had it been since someone held him? Hilly closed her eyes and ignored all the thoughts swirling in her mind and she held this fierce warrior in her arms and whispered words of comfort to him. Zuri continued to purr, though she’d had to give up her position at Bucky’s thigh since Hilly had been pulled into Bucky’s lap. She tried not to think about that either, or all the naked hard muscle pressed against her, but as his breathing smoothed out and his grip on her loosened, it became more difficult to ignore. 

Bucky’s solid form shifted under her, and she took the hint to move off his lap as it became apparent that he was finding their closeness hard, um, _difficult_ to ignore also. She gave him one last squeeze and moved back to the desk chair, trying her hardest to look as if crawling into her client’s lap, her bare-chested, body of Adonis with bedroom eyes to match and a mouth made for sin, client, was positively normal. 

He gave the cat a gentle pat and rose, making his way to the dresser where he drew out a clean shirt and pulled it over his head. 

“Thanks,” he said, his voice rough. He opened his mouth to say something more, but shut it again.

“You okay?” she asked.

Bucky’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile, “As okay as I get.”

Hilly gave a soft laugh. “Good. Want me to leave Zuri here? I’m not sure I can get her to go.”

The cat squeezed her eyes shut slowly and stretched out across Bucky’s bed.

Bucky smiled, “She looks comfortable. She can stay. And…” he looked down to hide the heat rushing into his cheeks, “if you would stay for just a little while?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one grew and grew and grew and I really hope it delivered. I can’t thank you enough, those of you that took a minute to leave me words of encouragement. I’m positive that is why this chapter came so much easier for me. Each chapter is easily 10+ hours of my time (and I am a mom and a wife, and I work more than full time), and although it’s hard to make the words go sometimes, *grin* I love to give that gift to you when I know it is appreciated and enjoyed. Please never feel like anything you leave as a comment isn’t appreciated, even the shortest little things make me so happy. Think of it as my tip if you enjoyed this chapter and my deepest thanks to you for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some quiet time, and furthering the plot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the big delay folks. I will say if there was a question as to whether I’m muse-powered or not, I most definitely am. My muse was a little heartbroken… I thought folks would be as excited to read that last chapter as I was to write it. I know, it was just a hug, but I thought it was a nice one.  
> So Bucky was born in Tennessee, both in MCU and in comic cannon. I kinda like that. He turns 100 March 10th, so in honor of his birthday, I publish! Happy Birthday, Buck.

And that’s how she ended up in bed with the Winter Soldier. Near him, that is, not actually engaged in anything exciting. She had to admit, up close, his presence was giving her some pretty exciting thoughts, and she had no right to have those kinds of thoughts about him. She was playing a dangerous game here, but she felt helpless to pull back. At least she wasn’t sitting in his lap anymore… she wasn’t made of stone. Bucky lay quietly alongside her, absently stroking the cat’s ears as she settled in next to him. Zuri purred, content that she’d found someone to give her attention. 

“Do you want me to get the light?” Hilly asked.

“No!” he answered quickly. “No, I leave it on,” he replied, his voice softer, tinged with embarrassment.

Hilly frowned, but eased back into the bed. He was watching her as if expecting her to judge him weak for it. “That way you know where you are?” she asked, careful to make the question sound matter-of-fact. 

He searched her gaze and seeing what he needed to, nodded his agreement. “The dark is disorienting. Dreams are bad enough. Waking up and not knowing where, or even when I am, is worse.”

“Try to sleep. I’ll stay here.”

“Thank you. I—“ he shook his head, discarding the explanation. “Are you from Kentucky?” he asked instead, wanting to keep her talking.

She gave a short laugh, “Yeah, guilty. Franklin, a tiny little place right near the Tennessee border.

Well, I know you’re from Brooklyn. You probably don’t know Kentucky.”

Bucky cracked open his eyes and gave her a smirk, “Born in Shelbyville, Tennessee.”

Hilly grinned, “I know where that is. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Tennessee boy.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, “Well, we left when I was just a kid, but yeah.”

“Huh. My mom was from near there. Murfreesborough, actually.”

Bucky smiled, “I know it.” His eyes drifted closed again. “Knew it,” he corrected. 

“She used to tell me about growing up there. I think I still have some cousins…” she continued, sensing he just wanted the comfort of her company. The words didn’t matter, so she talked about fishing with her Dad and how her mother was always quick to tell people she wasn’t from Kentucky when they assumed it, and how Dad taught her how a carburetor worked and the difference between a Reed and Prince and a Phillips head screwdriver.

Bucky lay in his too soft bed, cat wedged next to his hip purring contentedly and a beautiful woman just a few inches away from him, her velvet voice like a balm to his stretched taut nerves. Right now it was hard to remember why he needed to push her away. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to take the chance that he could, but he was so _tired_. And she’d put her arms around him and _oh god_ it had been so long since someone held him, and in that moment it was all he’d wanted. He let his eyes drift closed and resisted the urge to reach over and soothe the ache in an arm that wasn’t there. All it would do was break the moment, and he’d do anything to protect the safe little bubble he was in. It wouldn’t last, but he could pretend, just for a while.

Hilly gave a soft smile as the lines in Bucky’s face smoothed out, looking younger as he slipped into sleep. She didn’t know how long he’d be out, but she knew he’d feel better if he could just get a few straight hours. If he was a regular patient, she could prescribe medication to help, but his serum burned it off too quickly. The only way would be to keep him on an IV drip at a high volume, and she certainly wasn’t going to go that route except as a last resort. She’d sit with him for a while to be sure he rested easily, at least until she felt like she could sleep. She had a book loaded on her phone to keep her entertained and she’d just be sitting in her own room doing the exact same thing anyway.

An hour or so later and Hilly decided she’d better go before she passed out in Bucky’s bed. She shifted her weight slowly, moving as silently as she was able. She froze when Bucky let out a low whimper. His forehead creased, face twisted in pain. He mouthed the word no, though he didn’t voice it. He reached over and cupped his left shoulder where the raw ends had been covered in black metallic mesh and moaned. He was dreaming, and by the looks of it, what he was seeing in his mind’s eye was likely the stuff of nightmares.

“No. Stop, please,” he muttered.

Hilly was afraid to touch him while he was distressed. He might strike out, and if he did, he could easily hurt her. She wasn’t worried as much for her sake, but for Bucky. If he laid hands on her, it would be a serious setback. 

“Hurts. Sorry, ‘m sorry.” 

Hilly’s heart broke for him. He sounded so lost and alone, his voice nothing like his normal soft baritone. 

“Bucky, shhh. You’re safe. I’m here. No one is going to hurt you here.”

His eyelids fluttered, confusion twisting his face. 

“It’s Hilly. I’m here, and you are safe.”

“Safe?” Bucky asked, still deep in the grip of his dream. 

“Safe.” Sensing the shift within him, she dared to reach out and smooth the hair off his face, letting her fingers trail across his strong jaw in a soft caress.

“But my arm?” he asked, his tone plaintive. “Hurts, it hurts.” He frowned, “Always hurts.”

Hilly’s eyes widened, horrified. He’d not once mentioned any symptoms of phantom limb syndrome. Then again, knowing Bucky, why would he? He was convinced he earned every bit of horror, pain and discomfort he suffered through. If he could see that others could forgive him, it might help him to accept that he should forgive himself. She had to try. And she had to put on the pressure to speed up the work on Bucky’s arm. 

They’d been working on it the entire time he’d been in cryofreeze, but the integration of the system into what was implanted into Bucky’s body was proving to be more difficult. Bio-integration to the degree to where the prosthetic was fully part of the body was something that only Hydra had managed to achieve. Unless the recipient had some version of super-serum, no one else could survive the process. For that reason, research in the area was slim. Exception of Steve, Bucky was the only other super-soldier in existence. 

Bucky’s face smoothed out, his breathing slowing as he again relaxed. She bit her lip as she realized she was still stroking his face, tracing his high cheekbones, the cleft in his chin, the line of his jaw… she paused at his lips. She didn’t want to wake him now that he’d settled back into sleep. She pulled her hand back, hesitated, and then began to stroke his soft hair. What she’d give to have hair like his! Thick, with a gentle wave… no fair. Hilly sighed, it was time to go. Tomorrow, she’d see what she could do to help him.

 

$$$$

 

Hilly painstakingly edited together the scenes of Bucky’s wipes, his punishment when he resisted, and the subsequent wipes when he asked questions, painting a clear picture of a confused man who knew he should be loyal, who protected others, but couldn’t remember who his loyalty belonged to or who deserved his protection. A man who had to be repeatedly broken because what they used him for was anathema to the man that had been Bucky Barnes. He had an element of the killer in him. You couldn’t be an effective sniper or soldier without it, but he’d never killed for joy of it, even under Hydra control… unlike their other attempts at winter soldiers. She watched the tapes. They were evil before they went in, and fanatically committed to Hydra’s cause. They were also violent and aggressive, attacking without provocation. Bucky was easier to use, because he wasn’t like them. She made sure to show the contrast between them, not only in how they acted, but how they were treated. They were well cared for, and Bucky was a thing, a tool. 

Her hands shook and tears leaked down her cheeks as she watched, and she knew she had it right. This was what people needed to see. It was powerful, and painful, and raw. It was perfect.  
She didn’t know how she was going to face Bucky in therapy with all this fresh on her mind, especially because they were starting on some deeper work, painful work today, like it or not. She’d put off their session until this afternoon so she could get the footage together and see T’Challa before he left the country for the next couple of weeks. The timing wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t want to wait until he returned. She might lose her nerve. She saved both files to a jump drive and attempted to straighten up her appearance. The king was waiting.

 

$$$$

 

She was a bundle of pure nervous energy after putting together the files, and making an impassioned plea to T’Challa was dead last on her list of things she’d like to be doing. She believed it was the best way, although not the cleanest, but T’Challa may not agree. She put on a smile for the king and strode in with a confidence she didn’t feel, exchanging pleasantries as it was both their customs to do before getting to the purpose of her visit. 

“How fares our guest?” he asked. 

“That’s why I’m here. I need your help. I need to get some files on Bucky to the Black Widow. We have to create some sympathy for him with the public, or he’ll never be free.”

“I’m listening,” T’Challa replied.

Hilly did her best to convince T’Challa it was necessary to send the file and message she’d prepared on Bucky to Natasha Romanov. She hoped that Natasha could ensure the release of file one to the appropriate media channels and when the time was right, ensure Tony Stark saw file two. She knew for a fact Natasha could get the publicity he needed, and if she couldn’t get access to Tony Stark, no one could. Bucky needed his help, and she really couldn’t see another way.

“Your idea has some merit. This will do what you want it to, but—“he looked at her hard, “Will Bucky want the world to see him stripped to the bone and ripped apart? He won’t be seen as a man, but as a victim.”

Hilly nodded, “Yes. That’s the point.”

T’Challa narrowed his eyes, “And he agreed?”

“No. I’m not telling him.”

“You would take this choice from him? What did the Captain say?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. She knew Steve wouldn’t like it, but she wasn’t going to clue him in on it.

“If I make the world see what was done to the longest serving POW in history, let their outrage create some well-deserved sympathy, when the time’s right, the world will be ready to clear Bucky’s name, and by association, Steve’s.” T’Challa didn’t look convinced, so she pushed on, “If the deprogramming works and it will, he should be able to have a place in society again. He shouldn’t have to hide. This will do that. Nothing else will. Clearing his name legally isn’t enough. I have to sway their hearts, or he’ll never be able to go home again. He’s a survivor and a hero. I just want everyone else to see that.”

T’Challa gave her a single reluctant nod. He’d agreed. Probably. She was pretty sure he agreed. And maybe he was ruthless enough in his own way to see the simple beauty of her plan. She knew people, and she knew what power public opinion could weld, if harnessed and channeled. He was a king of a land rich in resources and wealth. She imagined he did. She hoped Natasha would understand what she was trying to do and help her in Steve’s name… and hopefully keep silent about it to Steve until it was too late to stop it. Steve said Natasha was a friend, and said she’d help them if he ever needed her. Well, he needed her, he just wasn’t the one doing the asking.

“Thank you, King T’Challa.”

“I hope it’s worth the price.”

She nodded, knowing full well Bucky was going to be furious when he learned what she did.

T’Challa grinned, “You are remarkably ruthless when protecting those you care for. You remind me of my mother. She was fierce, like you. It’s a good match.”

“Match? No. No, I just—“

“I must go; the plane is waiting. Please give me an update when I return. Goodbye, doctor.” 

“Um, goodbye. Really, he’s just my patient.”

T’Challa just laughed.

Part two of her plan was to get the man his arm back. He needed it back not only to show him that they all believed he could be trusted, but also to take the look off his face she saw every time he looked over and saw a missing limb. T’Challa’s scientists were amazing, and although there was progress being made on Bucky’s new prosthetic arm, there were some obstacles with integrating the prosthetic into Bucky’s body. Thanks to what had been done to him, he couldn’t use a traditional prosthetic, even if he wanted to. The grafting of titanium went deep into his shoulder and spine, reinforcement to carry the arm. The way it was wired into his nervous system and brain was well beyond her ability to comprehend, although Jak seemed to understand it well enough. Not how exactly to do it, just how it worked, and that they couldn’t figure out how to make that body-machine connection.

A mind like Tony Stark’s could overcome such obstacles. The science team had told her as much. She couldn’t imagine anyone’s heart was so hard that they could watch what had been done to James Barnes and still blame him for his deeds under mind control, so she was determined to make him see it. She’d created Stark’s version of the video file specifically for him, using what she gathered from his personality and what she learned from T’Challa regarding his view of Bucky. So yeah, she was using her psychiatry to manipulate him… so sue her. It was for a good cause, and for his own good. Tony Stark carried around a lot of pain, and misplacing it on a pure victim wasn’t going to give him any sense of closure. If she could get him to mend fences with Steve and help Bucky out, it would be good for everybody. 

Ruthless? Was that what T’Challa called her? As she said before, sometimes she didn’t feel like a very good person, but she would do her damnedest to get Bucky his life back, even if it meant he hated her for it. She really hoped he wouldn’t. What was the road to hell paved with again? She sighed and tried to pull herself together. Bucky was waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Those that regularly leave feedback and encouragement, thanks so much. I like to use the analogy of tipping for comments. A comment is your tip for a few moments of enjoyment and a complement to the hours of work I put into creating a story. Please don’t write a big fat $0 where the tip goes if you enjoyed it? Maybe you only have a dollar, and you’re embarrassed. What’s worse, leaving no tip, or the dollar? And let me tell you, no server is going to say, “I hate that I got quarters. Take that tip back right now!” They’re happy you gave one. Money spends the same.  So yes, just saying “I liked it!” or “Yay, a new one!” or “I like it when…” is pretty awesome. Writers write for an audience. No audience makes it damn hard to write.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom, so please feed the muse and comment? I'm incredibly nervous!


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